The 57th Hunger Games - SYOT
by Cassandrine
Summary: The Capitol is hungering for a new Games... Who will emerge victorious this year?
1. Chapter 1

The Capitol was beginning to hunger for this year's Hunger Games. It could be felt walking down any of the beautifully paved streets, where residents glanced longingly at store fronts displaying last year's Hunger Games merchandise. The rewinds of previous years would not be enough to keep them sated for long. There was something exciting about the unknown – what would this year's tributes bring? And how about the arena? Except for the Gamemakers themselves, no one knew for sure what would be among the wonders – or horrors- of this year's arena.

There were already bets going as to how many would die in the Bloodbath this year. People needed to bet on _something, _needed to be entertained somehow – and this was just part of the hype that went on every year, pre-Games. The second tributes were actually chosen was when the fun actually began. There were bets placed on which tribute, which District would ultimately prevail, bets which ultimately would change in a week or so once the training scores were revealed, and would change again after the Bloodbath.

A gaggle of teenage girls walks by, one chirping excitedly, "I think eight. Eight is a good number. There's still plenty left for some action!"

"Yeah, but not like the year only _four _died in the Bloodbath! How boring was that? Record low and a total snooze fest," her friend answers.

"But it can't be over too fast," the third one protests. "Remember that one time? Like, three years ago? _Fifteen_ died in the Bloodbath! Those Games only lasted four days, they sucked! No one was left!" She complains, twirling her silver sparkled hair around a finger.

The other two nod in agreement, rolling their eyes at yet another store front trying to hawk last year's left over wares. "I'm getting soooo sick of this stuff," one of them moans, ignoring the salesman's pitch following them down the street. "It's time for something new."

"Something fun," Sparkly Hair agrees. "Let the show begin!"

I'm still new at this site, so please allow for some funky looking formatting or strange things here and there! This is going to be a SYOT story. Please PM all submissions to me , and make sure to include basic things such as, Name, Age, District, Height and Build, Personality, and background story. Please try to make things as realistic as possible regarding their backgrounds. The majority of the districts live in poverty, so they aren't going to be driving cars and eating steak every night. The better developed characters will be more likely to get chosen, and in the event that they are the only one available for their District, will be more likely to survive. Please also feel free to submit any suggestions you may have regarding what you might like to see in the arena!


	2. Pre-Reapings Part 1

**So I've finally gotten the first chapter out. It certainly is a lot of work, and a lot of push at the end. I hope you enjoy! Tomorrow I'll make a note of everyone's ages on my profile as well. **

**District 1- Empress "Em" Blythe**

"I can't believe your big day is tomorrow already!" Amethyst Locklove exclaimed to her best friend, Empress Blythe. "I mean, really Em! Aren't you excited?"

Amethyst knows how she feels about this topic. They've been over it multiple times. The Games used to be an exciting prospect for her. Who wouldn't want to bring honor and glory to their District, to live in a huge, fancy house in the Victor Village, to have their name go down in Hunger Games history? Along with hundreds of other hopefuls in District 1, Em couldn't honestly count herself out. Unfortunately, the older she got, the worse her father pressured her into excelling. He pushed and pushed, until holding her beloved crossbow became a chore, until she believed he was incapable of caring about anything but her winning the Games. Did he even care about his daughter, Em Blythe? Or did he only care about Em Blythe, Hunger Games Victor? If something happened, if by some chance she didn't come home... Would he even have a daughter anymore, or would she just be a stain on her father's reputation?

Noticing her friend's silence, Amethyst continued, "Oh I'm sorry, I _know_, but it's still the opportunity of a lifetime! Don't let him ruin it for you; do it for yourself. You've been training for _years_ and now it's finally happening! Have you decided what you'll wear yet?" Amethyst is excited, rummaging around Em's closet for the perfect outfit. "You'll have to make sure it's comfortable enough - you know how long the opening takes, and it's been super hot for days. Way too hot for the blue dress, thought it would be my first choice. Decidedly, Amethyst moved the blue dress over to one side of the closet, where she already had moved a few outfit she deemed "not good enough" for the special occasion. "I think it's between this one," with this, she yanked a short red number out of the closet, "or this." The second choice was a white peasant top with small flowers in varying shades of blue and purple, with a comfortable pair of black shorts to go along with it.

"The second choice will go better with my manicure," Em said lazily, wishing they could talk about something else. When will the next opportunity arrive when Amethyst can come over and talk about something non-Games related? Granted, she understood how excited Amethyst must be for her - people tended to live vicariously through others, even if they were unconscious of doing so. Even if Em hadn't made the cut to be this year's tribute, though, Amethyst would still be here, going through her closet. Of course, she'd probably be asking to borrow that outfit instead of insisting Em wear it to the Reaping tomorrow. No matter what, Em knew that Amethyst and her would always be close.

The same couldn't be said about her father. His only purpose seemed to be having a victor for a daughter - if she hadn't accepted this as her fate, she probably would have been kicked out long ago. Regardless of how much money he gave her to spend on pretty clothes or the latest gadget, she knew it was conditional upon her being this year's female volunteer. Though he was hardly ever home to begin with, she shuddered inwardly to think of what life would be like if she hadn't agreed to volunteer. If she had put her foot down and said that there were much more qualified potential victors at the training center. "But are they _Blythes_?" She could hear her father's voice inside her head, dismissing the comment she had never dared to make. He probably wouldn't even look up from whatever he was doing. He was always too busy to bother with such things, and would likely tell her to take it up with her mother. He knew Em respected her mother and would never do anything to gainsay her. Em could just imagine how her mother's response would likely be something along the lines of how much her father had paid to have her chosen as this year's tribute, and didn't she appreciate how hard he was working to keep her in the most fashionable outfits and eating the best foods? Obviously not, if she was complaining about this one little thing she had to do for him. "Really, it's a trifling little thing, Empress, and you'll never have to work once you come back." No, complaining to her mother wouldn't have done any good.

"Do you remember that drawing I did last year of Cassius and his terrible hair?" Em asked out of the blue. The upcoming Reapings would happen when they would, but Em preferred to speak of art, even if it touched on the Reapings. "How many shades of green do you think I should pack for this year? I want to make sure I get the coloring just right." Cassius was their escort, and for the past three or four years, he had dyed his hair a different shade of green every year. There was a bet going on between a few members in the training center, even, as to what shade of green he'd choose this year.

"Yeah I remember," Amethyst dismissed the comment with the brush of her hand, "but I don't know how you can be thinking about his hair of all things! What we should be worried about now is your hair! Do you think loose and flowing? Or something more elegant? A chignon?"

Inwardly, Em sighed. There was no changing the topic of conversation,as Amethyst seemed so focused on making sure Em looked her absolute best for the Reaping tomorrow. Really though, she couldn't blame her - what were friends for?

By the end of the night, they had decided that Em's beautiful long blonde hair would be left loose and flowing down her back, and that even though she was already tall, a pair of low heels would make her outfit. Small sapphire studs would glint beautifully in her ears as she accepted her place tomorrow as District 1's female volunteer. She could already hear the cheering as she stared at her perfect as usual reflection in the mirror.

**DISTRICT 3- RYANA BLAINE**

"I'm so sorry Mr. Hess!" Ryana cried. "Here, don't worry, I'll get it cleaned up right away!"

The good natured Mr. Hess shook his head looking at the pile of vegetables that had been knocked off the stand in his store. Ryana's three year old brother, Julian, looked guiltily on. "Don't be too hard on him, Ryana, he's only a kid. Kids that age are naturally clumsy." His attention was diverted briefly by a woman asking a question and coming to pay for her merchandise. In this amount of time, Ryana had managed to pick up all of the spilled veggies and make her way out the door with Julian behind her, waving cheerily at the distracted shop owner.

"Let's go Julian!" Ryana cried, urging her little brother along. The last thing she needed was to be dawdling in the center of town when they really needed to get home and begin working on dinner. Or to have her smuggled food attract attention from anyone nearby. At 13, Ryana was still able to push the cute card, but barely. For Julian, it was easy. At three, everyone still made over how adorable he was, so he made stealing things that much easier. While he made some sort of distraction, or while the adults fawned over how he was growing, or some such, one of the older siblings would use it to their advantage to snatch at whatever happened to be close. This time, Julian's antics had scored them two fresh zucchini, currently stuffed into the inside pockets of Ryana's thin coat. It was an unnaturally cool day for this time of the year, with the threat of rain bearing down on them all day.

Ryana wondered briefly what the others had managed to score. It had been a few days since there had been a good haul, and everyone's stomachs were rumbling. It would have been much simpler to take out tessrae, as they occasionally did when things got very difficult. But with the Games approaching as quickly as they were, Ryana's older siblings were in no mood to speak of tessarae. "It's Lannai's first year being entered," Luna-Belle, the oldest Blaine sibling had responded at Ryana's first entreaty for some tessarae. "Another one of us eligible for death." Her face had fallen sadly as she said this, no doubt remembering what they father's death had done to their mother. It had been years, and she still spent most of her time in bed, barely eating, hanging on to life by a thread. "We're not going to increase any of our chances of being drawn. Not now." There had been nothing more said on the matter.

Alexander, Ryana's 14 year old brother, had mentioned later that it didn't matter when you took out tessarae - whether it was one month or six before the Reaping- your name was still entered. There was not a greater chance of one being drawn simply because they had entered their name during the month of the Reaping itself. It didn't matter though - there was no use arguing with Luna-Belle now, and not over this. Ever since their mother had taken to her room, Luna-Belle had been the new adult, new mother in the family. Just last year she had gotten a job working full-time in one of the many factories of District 3. While having some income was better than none, the job still paid terribly, and the siblings were still forced to steal.

Her little brother was still oblivious to the kind of life they lived. The houses got uglier and more broken down the further they walked from the town center, but Julian didn't seem to care. Home was home to him, regardless how beaten up. Ryana, however, noticed the weeds overgrowing in the front yard, the paint that was peeling. She noticed that the inside was always darker than it should be, and the rooms a bit dustier than most other homes. If only there a way to move up, to get something nicer for her family.

"Finally home," she muttered, pushing the door open. Julian ran ahead of her to Luna-Belle, who was home from the factory. "Woo-nah!" He cried, wrapping his arms around her legs. Luna smiled and absently patted her youngest sibling on the head. "Any luck today?" She asked. Payday wasn't until tomorrow, and all they had left was a bit of rice to boil. There should be enough for everyone, but not a lot. For a response, Ryana held out her two zucchini.

"I guess we can cut them up and stir them in the rice," a new voice chimed in from the doorway. Ryana turned to see her brothers, Kaleb and Alexander, pushing their way in through. It was Kaleb who spoke. "No, we didn't get anything." He held his hands up in the air, as if admitting to something terrible. "Couldn't help it. Almost got caught, and then what would we have done?" Alexander silently shut the door behind the two of them, refusing to be drawn into the conversation. It was really Kaleb's fault they had almost been caught. It was only Alexander's quick thinking that had saved them.

"Don't worry, I get paid tomorrow," Luna-Belle tried to reassure them. Hopefully she could soon persuade her boss to take on Kaleb as well. He would be 16 soon- old enough for factory work, and they could really use the extra check.

"Tomorrow's Reaping Day," a young voice chirped in scornfully. "We don't get to enjoy anything because we'll be spending all our time in the stupid Town Center listening to the stupid, stupid Capitol!"

"Now Margarette," Luna-Belle soothed, "talking like that doesn't help anyone. Why don't you see if Mom wants anything to eat tonight?"

Ryana herself wasn't a fan of the Games- no one was - but it didn't do to speak so badly of them, less you disappear somewhere. Occasionally people who were too outspoken against the Capitol were taken and flogged in the Town Square, and sometimes they disappeared entirely. Quietly, she crossed the room and picked up a knife to begin chopping the zucchini. Yes, she was afraid of tomorrow's Reaping- who wasn't? There were 5 in her family, including herself, that could be drawn. It shouldn't be them. There were definitely families that had taken out more tessarae than they had. Ryana tried to remain positive, but it was difficult- there were plenty of people who only had their names in once or twice that were drawn, and plenty more that had fifty slips in and yet had made it all through their Reapable years without being called as a tribute.

"Where's Lannai?" Ryana was worried about her. Her sister was such a sweet girl, and the stress of being newly Reapable was a paralyzing thought for many.

"Outside, I think. Just daydreaming." Kaleb took a seat on one of the less broken chairs at their table. Most were falling apart and rocked around when you sat on them. Ryana nodded and took her knife over to the sink, to clean it off. She didn't blame Lannai for wanting a peaceful moment for herself. This house was crowded enough as it was.

"Dinner's almost ready!" Luna-Belle called as she glanced at the pot of rice, boiling away. "Someone get the plates out!"

And so it came to be that dinner that once again, everyone's stomachs were barely filled, and the Games were politely ignored the entire evening. Everyone knew the inevitable Reaping was fast approaching.

**DISTRICT 3- CABLE WARD**

Seeing her at the table for dinner that night almost made him storm right out the door. Her smile as Cable's dad said, "Cable, right in time for dinner! Can you believe it? Dorie managed to get us a nice plump chicken; it just finished roasting. Doesn't it smell delicious?"

Oh, she wanted him to like her, and he never would. If Lanni weren't depending on him, he wouldn't even be here. She didn't like to see him upset with their parents, didn't like him to argue or even to make jokes about his dad's new girlfriend, Dorie, whom he absolutely hated. All Lanni wanted was peace, and for everyone to get along. He didn't bother to tell her that he would never like Dorie, would never find it in his heart to ever love or care about either of his parents again. What they had done was absolutely selfish and couldn't be forgiven, in his eyes.

Stiffly, he walked to the table, where 9 year old Lanni was already sitting there, her big blue eyes filled with a pleading look. P_lease, please be nice, the chicken smells so good_. Her eyes seemed to plead. Cable wouldn't be bought over with a chicken dinner, but he took a seat anyway, making sure it was as far away from Dorie and his father as possible. Lanni's body language instantly relaxed when she saw that Cable was not going to fight.

"Are you going with your friends to the Reaping tomorrow?" Dorie asked, trying to be friendly. It wasn't going to work. And why would she bring up the Reaping, of all stupid topics? It's not like anyone wanted to talk about that anyway.

"No," he said shortly, shoving a forkful of chicken into his mouth. Hopefully she wouldn't ask anything else with his mouth so full. Her smile faded only slightly as she turned to Cable's father to ask him a question about his day. For the past month she had been showing up, trying to engage him and his sister in small talk, bringing them dinners and small gifts. Well, it didn't matter if Lanni took the bait or not; he wouldn't. He had one mother who had done a miserable job, he didn't need a second.

Oftentimes, Cable tried to ponder where it had all gone wrong. He never could manage to find anything wrong in his family's life. His parents seemed to have gotten along beautifully. They loved him and his sister and provided them with everything they needed. What happened one day that made them just decide not to be together? Both his parents had vehemently denied it had anything to do with Dorie. That was one of the few things they told him that he believed. Dorie had come too late in the equation - his parents had been divorced for five months before Dorie came into the picture. No, there was something else going on, there had to be, something that had destroyed his once perfect family. Cable finished the last of his chicken and stood up, gave a hollow sounding thank you to Dorie and his father, and left the table. He went back out into the small backyard their home had and just laid on the grass, staring up at the sky.

A small face appeared above his a few minutes later, staring grimly down. "I don't know why you have to be so mean." Lanni's brown eyes accused him of being a mean, heartless person. If only she knew! They were heartless! Look what they had done! Destroyed two kid's lives without even thinking about it, without even seeming to care. Sure, there had been tears and apologies and plenty of gifts to cover up hard feelings. None of that mattered. In the end, they had still divorced, had still split the children between the two of them as though they were things and not people. Cable could never forgive them for ruining his and Lanni's lives like that. There was always a choice, and they had made the wrong one.

"Someday maybe you'll understand. Besides, I wasn't mean." He hadn't been. He had sat down at the table and not said one rude word the entire meal. True, he had answered everything in one or two words, but it was better than the alternative. The first time he had seen Dorie at the table, Cable had left the house and refused to return until she left. Doing that would have only left Lanni in tears again.

"I don't understand," Lanni pouted. "Dorie isn't so bad. I just want.. I want a family." The poor girl sounded close to tears. Cable couldn't stand this, but he also couldn't allow Lanni to think the situation was acceptable either. Without thinking, he snapped up and said harshly, "There's you and me, Lanni. No one else. There is no 'family' anymore. And even if there were, Dorie would _never_ be a part of it."

Lanni took a step backward, her eyes beginning to shine. "You _are_ mean. I can't believe I have such a mean brother."

Cable sighed and watched Lanni turn and slam the door to the house behind her. He loved his little sister more than anyone else, but boy, was she a pain. Thunder rolled in the distance. Maybe he'd be forced to go in and be civil to Dorie and his father. Or, if he were lucky, he could sneak by them and go directly to his room. He stood up, brushing the dirt off his shirt. He'd sneak in and hope Dorie was already on her way home. Later he'd try to explain things again to Lanni, hopefully calmer than he had been. She was only a little girl, but she still needed to understand. They were the innocent ones. It was Cable and Lanni against the world.

**DISTRICT 8 INDIA BLAIR**

"Indi, can you hand me another pin?" Dimi Blair asked her daughter. "I think I almost have this." She moves her hand expertly along the dress she is working on; a pink frilly thing that looks small and dainty.

"Is that Taffeta Laron's dress?" Indi asks, raising a thin eyebrow. "I thought you finished that last night." Indi made this a statement rather than a question. Her mother was constantly going back to things to make sure they were just right before they went out to the customer. It was probably why they had the reputation as the best clothing shop in the district, however, sometimes Indi worried about her mother putting too much strain on herself. Running a business was not easy work, and Indi's mother's need to have everything be just so worried Indi at times. In her opinion, sometimes her mother worked too hard.

"Yes, it's her first Reaping tomorrow." No one mentioned that it was hardly something to be celebrating, and yet their shop had been filled with dress requests specifically for this day. There was no need to mention that, but it was the thought on everyone's mind. Everyone wanted their children to look the best in case they happened to be caught on camera during the Reaping - after all, the Capitol needed to see that even children from a district as low as 8 could look presentable. It was good business, and last year, one of the tributes had been wearing an outfit designed personally by Dimi Blair. Of course, no one thought much of the outfit when the poor girl was speared through during the Bloodbath, but it had given Indi's mother enough commissions for a good week.

"I'm wearing the sleeveless one I just made. The red." Indi loved design as much as her mother, and had designed this dress specifically for this year's Reaping. Every year she designed a new dress for herself for the Reaping - as morbid as it was, it wouldn't do any good for Dimi Blair's daughter to show up in something ugly. And besides, it gave Indi an excuse to show off her designing talents. Reaping Day was the one day a year everyone crowded in the same town square, the one day everyone would be sure to see who was wearing what. Indi fully expected a large, positive reaction on this year's dress. She had worked so hard on it and felt that her designs were only getting better every year. In the past few months, people had been requesting Indi almost as much as her mother. In contrast with her soft spoken, more reserved mother, Indi had no problem speaking with people about her designs and ideas for new clothing, and actually, about anything. Indi just loved people. Most of them had no idea how to begin expressing themselves through clothing - something Indi was very good about helping them figure out.

Dimi nodded. "That dress is simply beautiful, dear. I'm sure you'll have many new clients after everyone sees it." Dimi made a quick adjustment to the pink dress in front of her and set it aside. "There. Would you mind delivering this to the Larons? They're hardly ten minutes away, and you know how they are."

Indi did know. Mrs. Laron, while not entirely unpleasant, had a habit of buzzing around like a bee and expecting everyone else to jump the minute she said. The second the dress was completed would be the second she wanted it. If there were a way to teleport it to her, no doubt she would have wanted that as well. "No problem Mom." She said, picking up the dress and folding it over her arm. "I'll be back soon."

She left the shop, shading her eyes with her free hand. Unfortunately, as someone who had rather fair skin, she tended to burn rather easily. Silently, she prayed she wouldn't burn for the Reaping tomorrow. It would be terrible to show up in a red dress with burned skin. As she made her way down the street, she nodded to a few people that were out and about, wishing she had time to stop and talk. Maybe afterwards. She wanted to know what was happening; it was always nice to know the news of the day.

At the Laron's house, Indi stood patiently, waiting for someone inside to answer her knock. Hopefully they weren't out; otherwise this trip would be a huge waste of time. Taffeta Laron, the very girl whose dress it was, opened the door, a nervous look upon her face. "I'm so lucky to have such a very pretty dress, but it's my first Reaping tomorrow and I'm so so scared." The poor girl ran her sentences together in an excited/scared way. Poor thing, Indi thought, remembering her first Reaping. She was sure everyone thought it was going to be them the first time.

"It's going to be just fine," she said, before she could stop herself. Chances are, it would be. Taffeta only had her name in once. The odds were entirely in her favor, as they tended to be for most of the wealthier kids. "I was so sure it was going to be me, too. And look! I'm still here." That could easily not be the case too, come tomorrow, but Indi just wanted to calm the poor girl. "Now, tell me Taffeta- do you own any other designs I've done? I'd be happy to make you another dress for your next birthday party. Or maybe a special back to school dress?" Really, Indi didn't mind talking to this girl. She lit right up at the mention of more dresses and began complaining about how everything else she had was so ugly, and she needed more dresses by only Indi. Indi nodded and listened to the girl prattle on about who wore what to school last year, and how your outfits determined what social status you were. Indi knew only too well that clothes could make or break a person, particularly at Taffeta's age.

"Taffeta," she finally said, handing the younger girl the dress, "I need to get back to my mother's shop. I need to make more dresses. But come and see me before school starts. I'm sure we can make you something beautiful." Already Indi's mind was racing with ideas for what would make Taffeta look her best. Indi just loved being able to do something that made such a difference for people. Regardless of what anyone said, clothing mattered, Indi knew that much. Already, she was excited at the pictures swimming through her head of what everyone was going to say when they saw her Reaping dress tomorrow. Oh yes, Indi just couldn't wait.


	3. Pre-Reapings, Part 2

**DISTRICT 10- AMBROSE TANNER**

You're not planning on going to your parent's house again, are you?" Jadyn asked, exasperated. He didn't need to ask - he knew that was exactly where she was going.

"Of course!" Ambrose said cheerfully. "What else am I going to do with all this spare meat?" As she spoke, Ambrose held up a hunk of smelly pork, a malicious glint shining in her eyes. "Their butcher's shop is really going down hill lately - I think they'll appreciate having _something_ to eat."

Jadyn rolled his eyes. "I'm not exactly sure this is healthy, Ambrose. Can't you just move on? You're wasting too much time on them."

Impatiently, Ambrose huffed, "Well, if _you_ grew up with them, maybe you'd understand. Look at me now. I'm the most successful butcher in town, and their shop is getting fewer and fewer customers every day! Serves them right. Turning me out when I needed them the most. What kind of parents do that, anyway?"

Jadyn had fought this fight before, and knew he wasn't going to win. In defeat, he held up his hands, palms facing skyward. "Look, all I'm saying is, that happened years ago. Let's move on with our lives. If we both make it passed this final Reaping, we're getting married. What more could you want? Life is good now." In the three years they had been together, Jadyn had never seen Ambrose's spite for her parents lessen at all. While he accepted that Ambrose had every right to be angry at her parents - kicking someone out while they're gravely injured has a tendency to make people bitter - he wanted her to be able to moved beyond that and into the future with him. She already had said yes when he proposed months ago - now all that was left was to get passed this final Reaping and they'd be home free. Maybe then she could leave some of that old pain and bitterness behind.

Ambrose sighed. She knew that her vengeance against her parents bothered him, but she just couldn't let them forget; they were failures as parents, as butchers, as everything. _Just give up and die_. That was what she really wanted to say, but for now, the piece of meat should suffice. "You don't have to come, babe. I'll be home soon. Don't worry." She offered a bright smile. "Besides, it's your turn to make something tonight. Surprise me!" And with that, she turned and left her boyfriend staring at her back, where her wavy orange hair shone in the fading sunlight.

With any luck, they'd have a window open, Ambrose thought as she ambled down the street. It would be even better to throw the meat in and have them wonder where the smell was coming from. Maybe they'd even step in it. She grinned wickedly at the thought of one of her hated parents stepping barefoot onto the rancid pork, which would surely be covered with bugs and flies.

It was a shame for them that they had thrown her out; she could have easily helped make their butcher's shop the most successful in the district. Since she was eight, Ambrose had been working in the slaughterhouse and butcher shop, so she had plenty of experience. And unlike most kids, she didn't moan and groan about working. No, Ambrose was one of those rare children who liked hard work. Being sore at the end of the day meant a job well one. She had been a very efficient worker, especially for one so young.

Ambrose had rarely admitted it to anyone, but she actually enjoyed the work itself - the messiness of working in a slaughterhouse, the dying squeals of the animals. She knew this probably wasn't normal. Most people seemed matter of fact about what they did - they knew that the killing of animals was a necessary evil in order to eat and send food to the Capitol. More than once, Ambrose had been asked, "How can you do that? Kill them, I mean?" The girl usually tried to shrug nonchalantly, as many others had done before her when asked this and say, casually, "We need to eat and so does the Capitol." It wasn't much of an answer, but a standard one given by many who worked in the industry. There was no way in hell she could explain the way it felt to hold power in her arms, to hold the decision of life and death in her hands.

Ultimately, she always brought death. She didn't want to enjoy this - in fact, sometimes it made her feel guilty, to enjoy the pain of these poor animals. The guilty feeling was pushed away by the fact that it didn't matter if she loved or hated it - she'd still have to do it. She was providing a service, not torturing dogs or cats in the street. That was her only comfort source, when the guilt stayed around long enough. She still had control.

The cluttered little house where Ambrose had grown up came into view. The paint was beginning to peel, and the screen door had several holes in it. The two front windows were pushed up all the way, but she had something better in mind. She grinned to herself. If only she could sneak around the house unnoticed, her parent's bedroom window might also be open. Her parents might still be down at the slaughterhouse- if fate was on her side, she'd get this whole thing done and hear about it tomorrow, when a friend of hers would report if she had heard anything unusual. Millie lived right next door to the Tanners, and worked in their slaughterhouse, but remained friends with Ambrose. She'd surely tell Ambrose all about their reactions to her little present.

High growing grass tickled her legs as she made her way to the window, carefully stepping over stray piles of animal dung. The window was wide open. What amazing luck! Raising her right hand, she tossed the rancid meat in as far as she could and heard it splatter against the floor. Unfortunately, it wasn't the only thing she heard.

"Goddammit! Ambrose! Ambrose Tanner is that you, girl?" The angry voice approached the window. It had been a long while since Ambrose had been caught throwing meat in her parent's house. Deftly, she hid in such a way that from his angle at the window, there would be no way her father could see her. "You don't gotta answer me. I know it's you. Every time it's you! When you gonna own up and admit your own part in all this, huh? You oughta been ashamed, using all your mama and I taught you to run our business into the ground! Hide all you want. Just never let me catch you, you hear?" Ambrose waited a few minutes after the window slammed to begin her walk back to the house, exhilarated, but overall content, with the result of the night's expedition.

**DISTRICT 12- CELESTIAL BRAKK**

_Chop chop chop chop!_ Celestial held the knife skillfully above the cucumbers she had just been cutting, surveying the neat green circles they had been sliced into. She was almost done with tonight's salads for the annual Peacekeeper dinner that would be held in the Justice Building. Celestial wasn't used to trying to feed so many people- about 20 Peacekeepers would be there - but she had to admit, she enjoyed the challenge. A whole row of sliced cucumbers sat in front of her, which she had expertly sliced through in no time. There was no doubt she was the fastest in the kitchen, on par with the Mayor's chef herself.

"Almost," she muttered to herself, beginning to divide the slices among the individual bowls. Each Peacekeeper was going to get his or her own small salad and bowl of creamy potato soup to go with the night's entree of chicken coated in spices. Such things were delicacies, things even Celestial, as the Mayor's daughter, rarely ever got to have. The fresh ingredients in the salads alone were worth more than most people made in a year. Lettuce, cucumbers, tomatoes - such things did not grow in abundance in District 12, and what little there was typically was cherished only by the richest in the community, and even then, only sparingly.

"If the people only knew what we spent keeping these Peacekeepers happy," Anka, the cook said, shaking her head as she bustled by Celestial. "They'd kill us in our sleep, they would! And rightly so! These pigs eat better than the entire district put together, and at our expense. When will it end, I ask you. When will it end?"

Celestial knew that Anka was speaking partly to herself and was not expecting an answer. Anxiously, the teenager poked her head around the kitchen door as though expecting Peacekeepers to be outside waiting to arrest Anka for her rash words. Seeing no one, she turned to the cook, who was busy selecting spices from the small spice rack. In her typical quiet way, she replied, "Oh Anka, you know it pacifies them. Things would be much worse if we didn't do this meal."

It was true that most Peacekeepers cursed the day they got sent to District 12, especially as back-ups for Reaping Day duties. About a week before the annual Reaping, the Capitol found it fit to send extra Peacekeepers to "keep order within the district." Celestial knew they didn't like being assigned to 12, and itched to be assigned elsewhere as soon as possible. Often, their irritation led to an increase in whippings and arrests, and an occasional house burning. Ever since Mayor Brakk had been appointed to his position five years ago, he had held an annual Peacekeeper's Welcome Dinner, which was kept silent from the people. Celestial had no idea how her father managed to afford what he did, only that in the month or two before the Reaping, her family ate considerably less than they did the rest of the year. The sacrifice was worth it, however. Violence against the citizens of 12 dropped drastically after the dinners began. As long as people kept to themselves and did nothing to outright provoke the Peacekeepers, the Reaping week tended to pass with much less incident than usual.

Anka grunted in response. "It ain't right. There are so many things that ain't right coming up in the next few weeks, it could fill a lifetime."

Celestial let the cook ramble on and began arranging the salads onto trays. She was sure the food was going to be delicious, as it always was, but there was always a twinge of guilt that she got such a magnificent dinner while others were starving in the streets.

"I'll ladle out the soups. It's best if you hurry on and get dressed. You know they won't want to wait."

Celestial nodded. "You're right, Anka." The smell of soup filled the room as Anka lifted to lid to check on it. Celestial closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. "Make sure to save some of that for yourself. You deserve it. It just smells so _good_." She couldn't wait to dig in. Guiltily, she thought about how Anka and the others who would be serving the meal would be lucky to get a anything by leftover scraps. Before Anka felt the need to hurry her along again, Celestial swept out of the kitchen and into a small side room, where her dress hung on the door, waiting for her.

It was a simple navy blue dress, with sleeves that reached her elbows, and a skirt down to her knees. Though she wasn't malnourished, as many in her district were, Celestial was still skinny, only slightly over one hundred pounds. Certain people would refer to Celestial's body as "pear shaped," though none of that bothered her. She was happy enough with who she was and felt so pretty in this dress. Hurriedly, she smoothed her skirt down and ran her fingers through her honey blonde curls, trying to take out any last minute tangles. She hoped she wasn't too late. There was no telling what the Peacekeepers would do if she walked in once they were already seated and eating - with their volatile tempers, they just might take it as an insult.

The halls in the Justice Building were empty now, Celestial noticed as she made her way to the dining room. It almost looked... _eerie_. There was always something going on in here, always people petitioning for this or that, complaining about something, begging. Though Celestial could hear pots and pans clattering around down towards the kitchen area, they seemed distant, as though she were listening to them in the background of a radio broadcast. Though she knew the dining area would be well lit, the hallway leading there was quite dark. The ghosts from stories that had scared her as a child would be right at home here. Celestial suppressed a shiver before pushing open the large, slightly dusty doors into the dining room. Light flooded her senses instantly; the chandeliers had been dusted off and set with new lights; candles had been placed strategically around the room, to give the feel of a fancy restaurant. Every year, Celestial was always stunned by how fancy it all looked.

"My dear daughter, Celestial," she heard her father announce to the group he was with. He made his way through the throng of Peacekeepers that were already there and went to stand beside his daughter. "The meal must be almost ready. I don't know if I told you, my daughter herself helped to prepare it!" Her father's voice shone through with pride.

The Peacekeepers barely seemed to register his statements. A few of the less hostile ones nodded, bored, before continuing their conversations. People started to move to take their seats, with some of the younger Peacekeepers continuing an animated conversation as they sat. As Celestial moved to sit, she noted that their conversation was over excitement that this year's Hunger Games, and what the theme would be. If only they didn't have to speak of such a thing now. Was watching people die violent deaths really that entertaining? The same thing happened every year. People died, sometimes in particularly excruciating and prolonged ways. At times, she had even had to look away, though it was supposed to be required viewing. Decapitations were particularly brutal, though they were, thankfully, a quick end for the poor soul who met their fate in that manner.

"Excited for the Reapings?" the Peacekeeper to her left asked, though not in a kind way. "A good lesson for you down here, not to mess with the Capitol. Lucky they didn't just bomb the whole damned district."

Though Celestial felt both her parents eyeing her from their chairs, they didn't need to worry. She was used to not all Peacekeepers being friendly, used to having to put on a smile and address them as if they hadn't just insulted her whole district. Pleasantly, she answered, "I'm very excited for the Reapings! Maybe we'll have a victor this year!" The last victor District 12 had had was Haymitch Abernathy, who had won the 50th Hunger Games. Before that, District 12 had only had a single victor. District 12 tributes were unlikely to make it out of the Bloodbath alive, so it was even more unlikely that one would survive long enough to win. It was like an unspoken rule - the higher your district number, the lower your chances of getting out alive.

The Peacekeeper snorted in amusement at her optimism.

"She's the Mayor's daughter, so she doesn't really have to worry anyway," another Peacekeeper dismissed the idea of her being reaped. "It's going to be one of those Seam kids, the ones that look like drowned rats. Each much have their name in there hundreds of times. They drop like flies.:

The man who had started the conversation leered at her as he spoke, "We wouldn't want this sweet thing in the arena anyway. We want a _show_. Not some cute little Mayor's daughter screaming as she's torn to shreds."

Celestial just continued to sit in her chair with a pleasant expression on her face, as though they weren't talking about her. _Cute little Mayor's daughter._ If only they knew. This cute little mayor's daughter could slice off their fingers faster than they could blink. "I just know our district can bring home a victor!" Let them think she enjoyed the Games, was eagerly awaiting the spill of blood in the hopes that perhaps one of her own would come home. Let them think her simple and optimistic, as they did every year upon their visit. Part of entertaining the Peacekeepers was putting on a performance, year after year.

"Oh good, here comes the food!" She heard someone exclaim. Indeed, she could smell the soup even before she looked up to see Anka balancing trays of it. Another kitchen assistant followed, carrying more trays of steaming soup bowls. A bowl was set before each person, and as soon as Anka and her assistant left, another two bustled in, carrying the salads.

Diplomatically, the Mayor raised his glass, which had just been filled with wine. "To a happy Hunger Games."

"Happy Hunger Games," the Peacekeepers intoned. Wishing she could spit instead of toasting this evil thing that was the Games, Celestial raised her glass and repeated, "Happy Hunger Games."

**DISTRICT 12 - CLIPPER DANIELS**

Bright blue eyes met his. They were filled with pain and fear. He could see her beautiful lips moving, but nothing was coming out. "Tresta!" Nothing would escape from his lips either. Desperately, he tried to yell her name again. Once more, no sound came out. Tears stung his eyes now. He could not move or speak, but only watch in horror as the strong hand gripped her long black hair and yanked her head backwards, before delivering the final blow to her temple.

Clipper awoke with a start, nearly attacking whoever was shaking him. There had not been a day since her murder nearly two months ago that Clipper had not had some sort of vision or nightmare about his dead girlfriend. Though awake now, Clipper saw the horrific scene as though it was still playing in front of him - Tresta's half undressed body laying in the dirt, her skirt pushed up and panties lying next to her. Her eyes had a vacant look to them, one Clipper had never seen before. And oh - he had tried and tried to get her to move, because maybe there was some way, something he could do. He had always known there was nothing, right from the beginning, but he couldn't have admitted that to himself.

"Sorry, I'm sorry," he muttered, looking up to his partner in crime, Dustin. "Didja get the paint, man?"

Dustin eyed his friend, who was still leaning against the tree he had been sleeping against. Clipper's grey eyes still looked faraway, and his black hair, which had recently been cut into a crew cut style, had a few stray flakes of bark in it. Ever since Tresta had died, Clipper had been, for lack of better words, really screwed up. His whole purpose in life now seemed to be destroying and defacing the merchant side of town. Though he had always had a rebellious streak and distaste for the Capitol in him, that seemed to be his only purpose in life now.

"I did," he said evenly. Hardly anyone was out at this time of night, so their chances of being caught were fairly low. Everyone wanted to keep their heads down as much as possible for the following few weeks. Dustin wasn't nervous about the task at hand, he had done this sort of thing countless times before. What worried him was Clipper's increasing vengeful attitude. Unfortunately, in his opinion, his friend was becoming a somewhat loose cannon. You couldn't be off and running when you had a task at hand to do - you had to do it and get out. Dustin feared that someday, Clipper was going to get caught and be whipped - or worse.

Clipper pushed himself up off the ground, dusting his pants off as he did. "Okay, let's go then. Shame Deacon couldn't come. He's got a run to make tonight on the other side of town." Deacon, Clipper's other best friend, sold bootlegged liquor. While his business often kept him from participating too much in these antics, he joined in when he had free time.

Dustin only nodded and made a hand motion to gesture for Clipper to follow him. "The Peacekeepers come in tonight. I think we should leave them a nice warm welcome."

Clipper nodded his assent. "We should burn the whole damned Justice Building. Justice my ass! There is no such thing as justice here!" His voice was harsh and full of hatred. No one would ever mistake Clipper for some Capitol loving merchant.

Next to him, Dustin groaned inwardly. This moron was going to get them caught, wasn't he? Hating the Capitol was one thing, but going out on these "missions" required a mind calm enough to think through any dilemma that might occur. Clipper wasn't likely to run if caught - he'd think he could take on the whole damned lot of Peacekeepers.

Tresta deserved better. After the Peacekeeper had been acquitted of any crime and sent to patrol in a different district, Clipper was reassured that there was no justice to be had in the district, at least for the poor. That useless, rich mayor, sitting up there in his "Justice Building" didn't give a rat's ass about people from the Seam. He didn't care that an innocent girl had been raped and murdered and then left down an alleyway. He didn't care that so many were starving. How could he care? The Brakks had been of the merchant class before Mayor Brakk was appointed to his position. They had never known poverty, had never known the fear that if they didn't get food soon, their children might die. And because they didn't know, they didn't care, which is why they didn't do anything about it.

The two boys moved silently throughout the darkened town. It was too late for any shops to be open, too late for people to be dashing to and from anywhere. The only other people who would be out were people like themselves - ones who moved in the shadows to wordlessly voice their displeasure with the merchant class and Capitol.

The Justice Building loomed large and imposing in front of them. Dustin silently tossed Clipper a bottle of spray paint and pointed to the large doors. Painting out in the front of the building like this was a huge risk, but the statement was worth it. There would be no way it would be able to be cleaned off before the Reaping. The entire district would see it, and they'd have to find a way to film the Reapings so that the doors would not appear in any of the shots.

Clipper shook his can. He began a large C off towards the top of the doors, where his friend couldn't reach. Being 6'1" had its advantages at times. Dustin would begin the bottom word once Clipper had finished the top. It took Clipper a record amount of time to finish the word "CAPITOL." Already, he was fantasizing about the reactions of the Peacekeepers and the Capitol loving merchants when they saw this. It was no doubt their most daring escapade yet.

"C'mon man!" Dustin urged. Clipper was in one of his modes again- the kind where his eyes looked faraway and he got an evil little smirk on his face. Snapping back to reality, Clipper only had time to glance at the huge words, "CAPITOL SCUM" before he realized what Dustin was beginning to panic about- there were voices coming from inside the building! Already, his friend was down the stairs and turned to run. Clipper took off like a bat out of hell. This wasn't in the plan at all. Thinking fast, he grabbed Dustin and pulled him behind a nearby shop. Both boys were panicked beyond belief, but held their breath out of what neither one would admit was fear.

The doors creaked open. In the silence of the night, the boys could hear footsteps on the stairs of the Justice Building. Suddenly, the footsteps stopped. Clipper knew they were probably looking at his handiwork. "Well, Mayor Brakk, what a very unique way of welcoming us." A cold voice said.

It was a moment before they could hear the Mayor's voice. "I had no idea... Whoever it was will be punished most severely, I assure you."

There was a silence and then some mumbling that neither of the teenagers could hear. And then, "For every letter up there, we will choose one citizen at random to receive 10 lashes after the Reapings tomorrow in the public square. Best make sure this doesn't happen again, or the punishment will be _most_ severe."

Clipper knew they were threatening the Mayor; he didn't care about that. He counted silently in his head. Eleven letters. Eleven innocent people would be whipped tomorrow for something he had done. His fists clenched and his mind began to race with visions of burning Peacekeeper housing and what it would be like if the tables were turned. Underneath his anger, he knew this to be impossible, lest there be executions on his conscience instead of just whippings.

The two boys stood in silence, one seething, one scared, until the Peacekeepers footsteps had long since died away.


	4. Reapings, Part 1

**A/N** : I apologize for the delay it took in getting this up! The second Reaping chapter is very close to being done as well, so it's only a matter of adjusting some minor things and then getting it all on the computer. I have some polls that I've made, please feel free to vote. Even when I'm not updating the story itself, I tend to update my profile a lot, if you're ever looking for clues as to how far along I am in something. :) And yes, there is some bad language in this chapter; consider this your warning.

**District 4- Memory Parks**

_The day is upon us yet again_. Memory couldn't help but think, somewhat sarcastically, as she got ready for the Reaping. This was the day that people had been celebrating for the past few days, ever since the final selections for this year's tributes had been made. For her, it was just another day. Unlike many others in her district, Memory didn't give a flying fig about the Reapings. They were an excuse for people to drink and party for a few days, and then to pray to whatever they believed in that one of their tributes would come home. The problem with that, the problem that was so conveniently ignored, was that even if one of the District 4 tributes managed to make it home, the other did not. No matter what happened, District 4 was going to lose at least one person in the Games this year and every year, despite having more victors than most other districts. As with all other years, at least one family would be forced to put on brave faces as their son or daughter was slaughtered on live television.

_Oceana Reaves. Flynn Rowan. _ The names didn't mean much to her. Memory didn't talk to the Academy kids, who spent all their time training. She was just the average district girl, raised by parents who were out so often fishing that they were hardly ever home. In school, she was the girl everyone tended to forget was in the room. You would never find her immersed in a discussion about who was dating whom, or placing bets on any of the arrogant, swaggering Careers who held court in the lunchroom, all claiming to be the next victor. No, Memory stayed mostly to herself, focusing her attentions on whatever she currently happened to be reading; God knew she couldn't stand being part of a large group. The loud noise and endless chatter of most of the groups at school usually made her want to go home and take a nap.

Unfortunately, being part of a large crowd was unavoidable at the Reaping, where everyone was forced together into one large, albeit, not large enough, space. Though she knew it wasn't to be her big day, Memory didn't want to look like a complete slob. She surveyed herself in the mirror with a critical eye. Her black velvet dress fell down to her knees, and was paired with black pumps. You couldn't go wrong with black, Memory reasoned, it looked good on everyone. Her long brown hair, which she wore loose and wavy, seemed to look elegant rather than messy. No, if a camera happened to fall on her for a brief two seconds, she wouldn't shame her family with her appearance.

Satisfied, Memory made her way out of the house and into the street, which was already packed with people flooding to the town square. _Why didn't I just wait?_ she asked herself piteously. Distance wasn't a problem - she actually lived very close to the town square. Every year she told herself she was either going to be one of the first there or one of the last, so she didn't have to put up with this, and yet every year, she always managed to be somewhere in the middle.

The crowd surged forward, pushing her with it. She stiffened, trying not to touch anyone. A group of boys just barely past the Reaping age knocked into her without even bothering to look back or apologize, laughing and chasing after each other down the road. Why did I bother wearing heels? Though people were expected to dress nicely for the Reapings, even barefoot, Memory stood at an impressive 5'9". Heels were not a necessity, especially not for this terrible trudge into town. Who knew how long it would take in this crowd, and with everyone so close, she'd be lucky if she didn't stumble into someone. Her only consolation was that in an hour, this would all be over. She could find a way to the back of the crowd until the majority of them had passed, then take her shoes off and walk barefoot home. Her parents had promised they'd stay home for the whole of Reaping day this year, so she might even get to spend a little time with them.

No one spoke to Memory the whole way into town. Though she didn't mind not being a part of one of the huge groups that roamed around, the ones that boasted five or six giggling girls in tow, Memory wouldn't have minded having someone to walk with. Just one person, maybe, who could sympathize with not liking crowds. Silently, she got into the line to get her finger pricked. Why did they even need to draw blood anyway? It seemed only to add to the drama of the whole event. And why the same video year after year? Couldn't something be different for once? She was sure no one ever paid attention to it, even those who came from die-hard, Capitol loving families. After the same video played for over fifty years, every year, people tended to get bored.

_War, terrible war._ Memory shifted uncomfortably in her shoes. Already, she could feel a blister popping up on her big toe. Maybe instead of going out right away, she'll just take a nice warm bath when she got home. Her parents can wait that long to do anything, surely. Hopefully they can stay home all night tonight, instead of going to some stupid celebratory party, Memory thought. Her parents are always trying to look like good citizens, loyal to the district and Capitol, but sometimes their efforts just annoyed Memory. There was nothing to celebrate yet; the person whose family had hosted the party had a high probability of being dead within two weeks, then what would they be celebrating?

_This is how we remember our past. _ At 16, she has been to enough Reapings to know that once this point in the video is reached, it is almost over. Because there is nothing else to do, she focuses on the escort, with her ridiculous blue hair. You'd think someone had forced her to dress in theme, just because she was escorting the fishing district. The woman is sporting a dress so short that one can almost see up it. _How original,_ Memory thought, noticing that on the dress is a large dolphin wrapping itself around her torso. She certainly seemed happier to be here than Memory, at any rate.

For people who aren't going to be Reaped, and will have nothing to do with this year's Games, the crowd looks awfully excited. For what? Memory always wonders. They'll get to stand here for another fifteen minutes, and then they get to walk home and continue with their lives. The Games won't even start for another week, after all the parades and training conclude.

"And first, our female tribute." the escort is saying, brushing her hand over the top of the bowl and grabbing the first slip. She knows whoever she picks won't matter, because there will be a volunteer. "Memory Parks." Memory froze, but then remembered it doesn't matter anyway, because this is just a formality. She fixed a smile on her face and made her way calmly to the stage, cursing her heels every step of the way. "And do we have any volunteers?" The silence was deafening. People seemed to be shocked, and chanced glances left to right, looking for Oceana. District 4 hasn't had a volunteer chicken out of this great honor in over twenty-five years! The last one that did was nearly shunned from society afterwards.

The escort herself composed her face from shocked into an unreadable, pleasant countenance before continuing, "Well then, now we will draw our male tribute!"

Memory just stood there with that dumb confident smile on her face. What the hell was happening? She wasn't even a Career, for God's sake! What was she going to do?

The escort was unfolding the next slip of paper. "Pat-"

"Wait, wait!" A desperate female voice shrieked out. "Oceana Reaves! I volunteer." Everything stopped. If the Capitol thought the Reapings were boring, this added something nice and different to the mixture.

"I'm sorry, dear," the escort was saying. "We've moved on to the boys now! Looks like someone else is going to be reveling in the glory this year." And with this she turned to wink at Memory.

_Let her volunteer, let her, let her, please_.

As if nothing had happened, the escort went back to the slip, finishing reading out the name, "Patrick Davies!" This time things went as planned.

"I volunteer! Yes, this is my year! I promise I didn't forget!" A male voice rang out across the square. Memory paid little to no attention to the boy who was now climbing the stairs and joining her on the stage, the one who was most assuredly Flynn Rowan. Or maybe it wasn't. It could have been Patrick Davies or President Snow for all she knew; in this strange turn of events, she could hardly even believe that she was Memory Parks.

At some point, she is led off the stage and into a small room, to await her final goodbyes. Damn, she suddenly thinks, I guess I won't be getting that bath.

* * *

**District 4- Flynn Rowan**

As she watched Flynn get ready for his final Reaping, Serena Rowan couldn't help wipe away a tear. It seemed like just yesterday he had first entered the training academy, full of dreams and promise. Now, her little boy was going to fulfill his destiny. Any mother of a Career would tell you they were proud to be serving their district in this way, by allowing their son or daughter to represent them. Serena was no different, however, it was still hard to come to terms with the idea that in just a little over a week, her son would be fighting to the death on live television. It was little consolation that her son was trained by the best in the district; the best trained Career didn't always win. The arenas always held a certain amount of unpredictability to them, meaning that a Gamemaker concoction could leave a strong Career helpless and a pitiful lower district child on top.

"Hey mom, are you ready?" Flynn asked, staring at his mother. She was looking at him strangely, in a misty-eyed sort of way. _Please don't let her start crying,_ he begged silently. "Don't worry," he threw in a wide grin, hoping to diffuse the mood, "you know I'm going to net the hearts of all those Capitol women." What a lame joke. The boy from Four netting hearts. But she was smiling in a shaky sort of way, so he guessed it worked well enough.

'I... I just..." She shook her head, feeling silly. Did other mothers cry privately, before the Reapings? Surely she couldn't be the only one who worried about her child, especially knowing what he was about to volunteer for. Whether you were the mother of a Career or not, you always worried. Trying to ignore the tears, she took one of her son's hands in her own, running her fingers along his and sighing over the jagged nails. "I wish you wouldn't bite your nails, Flynn."

He rolled his eyes. _Mothers_. One minute crying about him volunteering, the next, complaining about his nail biting habit. "I don't think anyone's going to notice my nails, mom, thanks."

Serena swallowed the lump in her throat and let go of Flynn's hand. "You're right. The Capitol is going to give you a manicure and that will be that. No more bitten down nails." At this point, Flynn's nails were the last thing on her mind, but it gave her something normal, something everyday and ordinary to focus on. "And how about those dreads, Flynn? What will you do if they decide to hack those things off?" It had been a debate since Flynn had done his blonde hair in dreads. Dreads were not mother approved.

"I don't think the ladies can resist, do you?" He grabbed an apple off of the table and took a bite. "Anyway, better be off. Can't disappoint the waiting crowds." He winked at his mother and stepped out of the house, feeling an odd sense of sadness. He knew he'd see his mother again when she came to say her goodbyes, but he wasn't sure he wanted to. Seeing your mother cry was a scary thing, one that Flynn, even as old as he was, had no wish to see.

Almost the second he stepped out of his house, he was bombarded with people he associated with at the training center. He stopped short of calling them "friends" simply because the only thing they shared was training. If he had been an average Joe instead of a Career, these same people wouldn't look twice at him, and he knew it.

"Ready to be crushed, Rowan?" Oceana. Politely, Flynn nodded and joked, "Uh-huh. Yeah. And who had more bullseyes last week?" Even to himself, Flynn wouldn't admit that had been a fluke. Normally pretty mediocre at long range weapons, Flynn had shocked everyone, including himself, when in front of the scoring committee that chose the tributes, he had shot almost perfectly. Of course, the others all had assumed Flynn had been holding out on training and hadn't shown them how well he could do. What they didn't know was that archery wasn't a hidden talent of his at all; he had just gotten lucky.

"Yeah, man, I can't believe you outshot me, and by one lousy arrow." Florean sighed dramatically. Really, Florean deserves this more. Flynn couldn't help but feeling a little guilty, knowing that if Florean and he had gone head to head at any other time, he most certainly would not have had the fortune he did this time around. The Hunger Games were a once in a lifetime chance, however, and he wasn't going to let guilt weigh him down. Once his name was forever written in Hunger Games history and District 4 was drowning in prize money and food, it wouldn't matter who had won, only that it had been someone from Four.

Slowly, the three began to make their way down to the town square. Oceana was quieter than usual, only interjecting every so often. Florean really kept the conversation going; there was way too much on the other two's minds to focus wholeheartedly on anything but the task that was soon to be at hand. Flynn was bursting at the seams at what was about to happen, but he wasn't going to let it show. He was proud- extremely proud. It wouldn't do to seem too excited though. He really wasn't that eager to spill blood, as he knew some would be; he was eager only to win.

Wordlessly, he allowed his finger to be pricked for blood and filed his way into the town square. As an 18 year old, he got to go all the way to the front. In all the confusion, he had managed to lose his friends, and ended up standing next to people he had seen around, but didn't really know very well. He gave the boy next to him a polite nod before beginning to imagine the beautiful houses in the Victor's Village. He didn't know what you had to do to get one, but he had heard that some victors were even allowed a personal Avox by the Capitol.

The boring old video couldn't be done fast enough. As it played, Flynn tried to parody it in his head, with little success. It was hard to come up with something funny when the material was showing crying, screaming people. Finally, the escort was ready to pick the tributes. "And first, our female tribute," the escort said, picking up the first slip that makes its way into her hand, "Memory Parks." Flynn pays little attention as a tall girl with wavy brown hair makes her way up to the stage. Oceana has chosen to make a very dramatic entrance this year, that's for certain. There is an awkward silence, as everyone knows this is Oceana's year. People turn to look for the missing should-be tribute.

The escort gives up and selects a name from the Reaping bowl for the boys when Oceana cries out, desperately. _She's blown it,_ is all Flynn can think. Her training, useless. Her family, put to shame. What a shame this is, because Oceana is a great warrior and would have made a District 4 proud.

Flynn hardly lets the escort get Patrick Davies' name out a second time before he jumps in with his usual witty remark and makes his way up to the stage. He noticed that his district partner is tall, but he didn't realize how tall until he stands next to her. As someone who was been Reaped, instead of volunteered, she'll definitely be someone to watch. She could be a great asset to the Career pack, or she could slow everyone down. He makes sure to be charming and friendly as ever as he shakes hands with Memory. He'd have to learn more about this strange district partner.

* * *

**District 5- Vayne Morgan**

Today would be the first day that District 5 would see a volunteer in God knew how many years. Vayne Morgan wasn't even sure Five had ever had a volunteer in all 56 previous Games. Well, he'd just make himself the first, and to hell with what anyone thought. He wasn't here to please them. He wasn't even here to please her.

_Yes you are, _ something inside him whispered. _You know you're here to please her, to win her back. To see your daughter. Otherwise, you're just a sick fuck._ Quite the contrast - one reason for volunteering left him a hero, and the other, a twisted individual. But which reason was truer? He wasn't even sure he could answer that honestly. Some parts of him really hoped it was to earn enough money to win back Kayla and the daughter he had never known, to give them a good life. Other parts of him, larger parts, acknowledged that the idea of slicing someone's throat open had an odd appeal to it.

He ducked as he saw his ex-girlfriend, Kayla Rivers, heading in his direction. Lucky for him, she hadn't seen him yet. He made sure to position himself on the opposite side of the crowd from where Kayla was, so that she couldn't see him and suddenly sneak up on him. It was completely understandable that she'd want to talk to him at some point; after all, they did have a child together. Vayne wasn't ready for that yet. Though he had been trying to make enough money for ages now, he realized the only way for him to support his family would be to emerge victorious from the Games. At least, that was what one side of him was claiming. The other became excited at the prospect of seeing blood flowing from an unstemmed wound.

Winning for the district, bringing honor, blah blah blah, none of that was really important to him. The female tribute was called- a small, nervous looking girl. Vayne let out a rude snort. He'd love to clamp his hands around her throat and watch the life drain out... He tried to shrug this thought away, to have control. Bloodlust was not what drove him, he reminded himself. _Who do you think you are, Vayne, a damned Career?_

The Capitol woman was pulling a new slip out of another jar. Wouldn't that be just hilarious if that slip actually held his name on it? "Nicholas Brown." _Not even close._

"I volunteer," he said, as if it were the most normal thing in the world to have a volunteer from Five. A boy who had just emerged from the 16 year old section, looking shaken, stepped back in wordlessly, looking extremely grateful. Vayne definitely didn't want to be seen as a hero; his reasons for doing this were far from altruistic, no matter how you looked at it. He couldn't very well go up to the microphone and say he wanted the money to win back a girl he had abandoned, but he wasn't going to lie and say he was friends with that Nicholas kid either.

The Reaped girl was looking at him in confusion and admiration. Vayne glared menacingly at her. Best if the cameras never caught him looking too friendly, and besides, he didn't want this little twerp to think he'd ally with her or anything stupid like that.

"Vayne Morgan," he said without infliction into the microphone to introduce himself. Let the Games begin.

**TEN MINUTES LATER, IN THE JUSTICE BUILDING**: "Vayne Morgan!" His name coming from Kayla's lips sounded like the snap of a whip. He looked up and saw it was only her; briefly, he wondered where their daughter is. It would have been nice to see her up close, even just once. Before he could ask, he felt the sting of her palm against his cheek. "Do you have any idea what you're doing? What you've done to Laela?"

_My daughter's name is Laela_. Of course, he should have expected her to be angry, after avoiding her as much as possible for the past two years. "I'll make it right, Kayla, this will give us a lot of money!" Even though he doesn't mean to plead, that's exactly what it sounds like he's doing. Damnit.

"Money? _Money_? Is that what you think this is about?" Furious, Kayla took another swat at him. Already, he can see the Peacekeepers getting ready to take her away. "Our daughter has never even met her father and you want to talk about _money_?" Vayne does nothing to stop her as her nails rake into his face, leaving nasty scratches behind. The Peacekeepers are dragging Kayla away now, away from Vayne.

"Wait! WAIT!" She shrieked at them and they halt, though remaining at the ready in case any further assaults are to come. He could see her hands shaking as she removed something from her pocket. "Here." She threw whatever it was at his feet. It fluttered down, landing a few feet away from Vayne. A look of pure hatred flashed across her face. "I hate you! I hate you and I hope you fucking die!" And with that, Kayla shoved her way passed the Peackeepers and out of Vayne's life.

* * *

**District 6- Hunter Wakes**

Hunter Wakes stood in the town square, anxiously shuffling from foot to foot. As a 12 year old, this was his first Reaping. Nervous excitement pulsed through his veins. There had been times in the past - like his birthday, that was the major one!-where he spent a lot of time waiting for something to happen. The biggest thing that he was counting down for was still years and years away- to be a train conductor like his dad. Usually, however, he'd only have to wait days, or sometimes weeks, and finally it would happen, and then it would be all over and he'd be sad. That was just the way things worked. The Reaping was a different sort of event - this was something he looked forward to being over. He rarely had ever had that feeling, because Hunter tended to enjoy most things.

_War, terrible war. _ Unlike most of the other kids, who had begun talking quietly amongst themselves, Hunter was staring intently at the video, his curious eyes being filled with terrible images of screaming people and smoke. Though the younger kids were pushed all the way in the back, he still had a better view than he had had previously, ever. Usually, as someone not of Reaping age, he had been shunted to the side just outside of where the town square actually was, rendering him unable to see anything. He thought of his parents and sister out there, listening, but not being able to see.

_Widows, orphans, a motherless child. _ While not exactly an orphan, usually he only saw his father a few days a month. Did that make him a sometimes half-orphan? What about people whose parents had abandoned them - were they technically orphans, even though their parents were alive?

_But freedom has a cost_. By this point, even less people were looking at the screens. Even the Peacekeepers surrounding the area had begun to tell jokes and smoke cigarettes. "You can't be free if you're dead," Hunter muttered. The boy next to him turned slightly and gave him an odd expression before staring back down at his own feet. Hunter couldn't help it - if he thought something, he usually said it, even if it was only as a whispered comment.

_...a pageant of honor, courage and sacrifice. _ Frankly, he didn't understand the honor part. Courage, maybe, though certainly not everyone who was in the Games was courageous at all. Sacrifice? Parents lost children, children lost their lives... So yes, there was sacrifice involved. But honor? Not the brightest of kids, Hunter usually would have had to ask his mother what the word meant. It couldn't mean what he thought it did, because that made no sense when referring to anything about the Games.

_This is how we safeguard our future_. An interesting video, if nothing else. Interesting only in how fast it had managed to bore everyone into doing something else.

Hunter really, _really_ hoped his father would be standing out there when he left the square today. He had said that he'd be back today, sometime, from his latest deliveries to the Capitol. Hopefully it would be sooner rather than later, so that maybe they could sit down and have dinner as a family tonight. Hunter really loved when everyone got to be together, though no doubt Ella would try and hog all of their father's attention. Newsflash Ella: youngest child doesn't mean only child!

"Our lucky female tribute for this year is-" the escort paused and dipped her hand teasingly into the jar. If Hunter had been more aware of the people surrounding him, he would have noticed people's postures stiffen, their heads being snapped upward to look at the messenger of death on stage, to pray it wasn't them. But Hunter wasn't aware of them, he was only aware of how annoying it was that this woman couldn't just grab a slip and read the name. Instead, she brushed her hand around the top of the stack, picked one up and dropped it, before choosing another. She seemed to take an eternity to unfold the slip of paper she now held in her hand. It was no longer a mystery to Hunter why the Reapings took so long every year; this woman seemed to enjoy the theatrics. "Ayumi Gillette!"

There was a rustling from several sections up- the fifteen year old section, Hunter managed to see. All he noticed about the girl was that she had shoulder length black hair tied up into pigtails. He had never met her before, thankfully. It would be really terrible if one of his friends were to be Reaped.

The boy's Reaping bowl took the place of the girl's in front of the escort. Again, there was a sharp intake of breath, particularly from the poorer children. Some, even though they were only twelve, had their names in just as many times as an eighteen year old, due to taking out so much tesserae. Once again, Hunter hoped it wasn't one of his friends who got chosen. He never even imagined it could be him.

"Let's see who's going to be joining the charming Ayumi, shall we?" Once again, the woman dipped a hand into the bowl and swished around several slips before settling on one. "The male tribute for District 6 is... Hunter Wakes!"

For a moment, Hunter just stood there, not believing that it was his name that had been called. What were the odds of that? _Hunter Wakes... That's me! _ Panic filled his mind. There was no way this was possible. This was his first time ever having his name in the Reaping bowl! It was only then he noticed the kids around him were backing away, making room for him to pass. Tears stung in his eyes, threatening to spill over. _This is really happening_. Suddenly, his feet didn't feel steady. It was like his legs had fallen asleep and he hadn't even noticed. The stage seemed an immensely long distance to walk to.

He started by passing his own section first; the rest of the 12 year olds, who were gawking silently. He recognized a few of his friends and realized they were whispering things as he passed, but he couldn't make out what. Next came the 13 year old section, where the relief was visible on their faces - they were all safe for another year.

And then the 14 year olds and 15 year olds. Somehow the stage seemed to barely be drawing closer at all. He could either attribute this to his limp, which he was sure everyone was conscience of, or his extreme reluctance to ever make it up there. 12 year old tributes usually died in the Bloodbath. The 15 year old girl, she might make it pretty far. 15 year olds rarely won, but they could make it further than a 12 year old. District 6 didn't usually bring home victors anyway; at least they'd have a shot if these two had been a pair of stronger, older tributes. Though no one would volunteer in either of their places, District 6 knew that with these two, it wouldn't have a winner this year.

Hunter knew exactly what everyone's thoughts were as he mounted the stage. He didn't need any verbal reminder of what usually happened to their district, and particularly to the younger tributes. Part of his mind was still oddly blanked out. A single tear slipped down his cheek. _But dad's coming home._ "Shake hands now!" The escort was even scarier up close, with all her odd makeup and designs. Limply, Hunter offered his hand to Ayumi, who met his gaze with a serious expression as she took his hand in hers.

He knew that at some point he must have been ushered off the stage and into the Justice Building. He knew that he heard the guard open his door and saw his mother appear. Her face was tear streaked, and she hugged him as tightly as she possibly could. "Honey, he's not here yet, the delivery got delayed." That was the only thing Hunter solidly remembered from after his name was called. He would never see his father again.


	5. Reapings, Part 2

**A/N: : ** I'm sorry this chapter took so long! I've been playing around at writing different parts of the story here and there, but have been unsuccessful at trying to focus back on the Reapings and Train Rides. The funny thing is that once those are done, it only gets harder! Also, please note that in this chapter some things had to be changed in order to make sense. I'll be honest and say I'm not entirely thrilled with this, but I can't wait to delve further into these characters later in the story. Unfortunately, intros can only have so much information. Until next time, thanks for reading.

**District 2- Lux Atwood**

Before leaving for the Reaping, it was imperative that Lux Atwood get a new pedicure. Everything else had already been taken care of- her eyebrows had just been tweezed two days previous, her Reaping outfit was already chosen, and she already had a few loving goodbye speeches planned out for the benefit of her family. Sometimes they aired those if they were dramatic enough, and Lux wanted all the screen time she could get. It would be just one more advantage over her opponents. Luckily, the paint from her manicure remained as pristine as when she had gotten it done, however, her feet were in need of some serious work. Most people might wonder who thinks about feet anyway, to which Lux would scoff. Not only did she plan on wearing open toed shoes for the Reaping, but you could never underestimate the power of looking great. Though it was more typical for District 1 to play up being attractive, Lux was not one to skimp on her looks at any time of the year.

Impatiently, Lux tapped severally times on the door, waiting for one of the Carlson women to open it. The nail salon was run out of the Carlson home, where they had a mini studio in which to do nails. It was run by two sisters who were as feminine as Lux herself, and refused to work in either of the typical District 2 careers of Peacekeeping or Masonry. They typically catered to the small, but wealthy population of "kept women," whose fathers or husbands were so wealthy that they themselves had no need to work.

The wooden door swung open, revealing the beautiful Clio. Though around thirty, Clio still had the slim body of a teenager, and youthful face to match. "Ah, the lovely Lux. We've been expecting you." She motioned the younger girl inside and shut the door behind her. "Now, if you'll just have a seat right there…"

Lux made her way to the familiar cushioned chair in the salon. The room used for the salon wasn't actually all that big, but it was enough to fit Clio and her sister, Calliope, and the two comfy chairs for their clients.

"Well, well if it isn't the lovely Lux Atwood!" Lux didn't even pause to acknowledge the sarcastic comment.

"Yes, it is, and about to be lovelier after I get my nails done, thanks," Lux replied in a falsely sweet tone. Two could play at this game. "Being on TV and all, you know I couldn't risk looking bad with a terrible pedicure."

Alana Baldwin didn't even bat an eyelash. "I guess looking good is important now," she agreed, nodding, "since I suppose it will be the last time anyone sees you until you come back in a box."

They were interrupted from their unfriendly banter by the return of the two nail technicians, each carrying a basin of steaming hot water. "Alana, dearest, I'm so glad you decided to get a matching pedicure! The look just isn't complete without it!" Calliope shared the same youthful features as her sister, and the same thick, chestnut colored hair.

Clio set the basin of water down next to Lux's feet and began her work. She didn't need to ask how the two girls knew each other. It was common district knowledge about the one comment that had destroyed the relationship between Lux Atwood and Christian Baldwin. Looking up at the Lux's flawless face, she could only imagine the rage that must have filled it when, during last year's Hunger Games, Christian Baldwin had foolishly decided to inform Lux that her chances would be next to nothing if she ever volunteered. Alana Baldwin, had, of course, taken her brother's side during the argument. Lux was a spoiled rich girl who knew nothing of hard work, and slacked off during training. She spent more time flirting with the boys than practicing any skill that would actually save her skin. So, no, Alana hadn't held high hopes for Lux, and had no qualms about telling her so. Either way, Lux had ended her relationship with Christian right then and there for daring to insult her.

"Are we going to be matching your manicure today, Lux?" Clio asked, though she was almost certain she knew the answer. When it came to how she liked her nails done, Lux was a simple customer – matching fingers and toes, nothing crazy. She was classically beautiful without even having to wear any nail polish or cosmetics, with no need to try and distract people from any unpleasant feature.

Lux simply nodded, thoughts already backtracking to when she had first announced her intentions to try out for the volunteer slot that year, and everyone's surprised reactions. A year ago, Lux had simply been another District 2 girl in training for a Game that might never come for her – everyone knew how fierce the competition was to be chosen. Forty girls had tried out for the coveted slot this year, and it was Lux who had earned it.

"Earned it?" Her older sister, Arabella, had sneered. "And tell us how you _earned_ it, Lux. How many men did you have to sleep with?" At 19, Arabella Atwood was no longer eligible for the Games, not that she had ever been that interested in being Reaped. Even doing her best, Arabella had been just average all throughout her time training as a Career, and hoped instead to land a rich husband. Why put herself in harm's way when she could get what she wanted without having to dirty herself?

Lux had smiled sweetly, basking in her parent's approval as she answered, "I don't know whatever you mean, sister. I've worked very hard for this." Under the nose of their fawning parents, Arabella had had no choice but to retreat, beaten for the moment. Lux really had stepped it up a notch in training since Christian had told her she could never win the Games – she'd prove them all wrong. True, her good looks probably had helped the mostly-male judging committee make their decision, but what was the harm in that? No matter how beautiful she was, if she were absolutely dreadful there was no way in hell they would pick her.

"Alrighty Lux, we're done for today," Clio's voice snapped Lux back to the present. "And may the odds be ever in your favor."

*_LATER_*

Greeting destiny was easier than Lux had ever imagined it would be. One minute she was standing, watching and waiting for them to pull a name out of the bowl, just as a formality. The next, she heard the name that made her volunteering even sweeter. "Alana Baldwin!" Lux couldn't believe her luck. Out of all the possible girls of Reaping age, the escort had chosen Alana for Lux to upstage. Gracefully, she stepped out from her carefully planned position close to the stage and called out, "I volunteer!" Instantly, the cameras flashed towards her, taking in her every elegant step to the stage. She smiled triumphantly, waving a perfectly manicured hand in a wave to the cheering crowd. Alana Baldwin and her brother were nobodies and would remain that way for the rest of their lives. Lux Atwood was destined, beginning today, to become a Victor.

**District 7 – Acacia Twilight**

"This is the last call- is everyone ready?" Acacia couldn't help feeling a little impatient and snappish with her younger siblings on hectic days like this one. The Reaping was probably the most stressful day out of the year for anyone, not just a teenager who was raising five younger siblings by herself, but ever since her parents had abandoned them, everything tended to weigh most heavily on Acacia this specific day. On every other day of the year, Acacia did everything possible to provide for her family, often working late into the night at one of her jobs to make sure none of the children had to go without. The Reapings were the one thing she couldn't control, and as each of the children grew up a little more, Acacia dreaded the day they would be eligible for their first Games.

Silently, she counted heads. Fourteen year old Juniper, looking unusually subdued was there, as well as little 4 year old Maple, held by 10 year old Ivy. That left Ivy's twin, Amber, and 7 year old Rowan. Acacia sighed impatiently. "Right, so have any of you seen-"

She was interrupted by the BANG of the door crashing open and two voices, each fighting to be heard over the other.

"It's not my fault, I promise-"

"I was coming, I really was, but she pushed me-"

"I DID NOT push you-"

"Yes you did, you're just so mean-"

'ENOUGH!" roared Acacia, rubbing her forehead. The two kids had somehow managed to dirty up their Reaping clothes to a frightening degree in a relatively short period of time. It had only been a quarter hour or so since Acacia had last seen them pacing around, bored with waiting for her to finish helping Maple get dressed. Now, mud was caked on both children, but particularly Rowan, who looked as though he hadn't taken a bath in weeks. "I don't care who started what, find something fast and change. Rub as much mud off as you can. Hurry, hurry! We should be leaving now." The other children, intelligently, remained silent. What a day. Acacia looked forward to the Reapings as much as anyone else, but it was still expected that they would be there, clean and on time. Drawing attention to your family on this day wasn't a good thing, not when so much was at stake.

"Now, Juniper has to come with me, which leaves the rest of you by yourselves. Try to be quiet and behave yourselves, please. "Ivy-" her eyes locked on the 10 year old, who was protectively rocking Maple back and forth, "I'm trusting you to watch out for the others. It shouldn't take too long; you know the drill by now. I'll meet you all next to the butcher's afterwards." She exhaled, running a hand over her light brown hair, pulling a few stray hairs out of the plait it was in. Ivy was the most responsible out of the younger children, but she was still only 10. With Rowan and Amber constantly at each other's throats, Acacia wasn't entirely sure it would be manageable for her this year, but it was the best they could do. It hadn't seemed nearly as difficult last year, when everyone had still gotten along, at least somewhat. "And," she began, raising her voice to make sure all could hear her, "if I hear that _anyone_ has misbehaved during the Reapings I will _double_ your chores for a month." In a household as large as theirs, doubling chores was a recipe for misery. From the falsely angelic looks on the two troublemaker's faces as they emerged from a side room, Acacia knew they had heard her. She raised her eyebrows for an added effect before turning and walking out the door, hearing the clatter of her siblings behind her. Some days, she wasn't even sure how she managed.

Upon arrival at the town center, Acacia and Juniper joined the lines of teenagers having their fingers pricked for a drop of blood, and left their younger siblings off to the side. Acacia winced at watching Juniper's blood get drawn – she knew from the expression on her sister's face that the sight of her own blood disturbed her- and was grateful to proffer her own hand in place of Juniper's, after she was done. A little sting and she filed in with the rest of the kids into their appropriate places. Juniper was lost in the crowd, heading away from the stage to stand with the rest of the 14 year olds.

_Think your lips are big enough? _The sarcastic comment entered Acacia's mind unbidden as their district's escort appeared on stage. She must have had lip implants or some other form of alteration, because her lips had swelled to at least twice their normal size and were painted a garish lime green. She found one of her legs shaking in impatience as she waited for them to get on with it. The Reaping wasted valuable time she could be spending with her siblings – the one day a year she had completely off from all three of her jobs.

"Ladies first!" Fish Lips pulled a slip out of the bowl and read, lips wagging ridiculously, "Juniper… Twilight. That's Juniper Twilight!" Everything seemed to be happening in slow motion. She watched her sister begin to walk up to the stage, trembling in fright. The poor girl could barely keep upright, her knees were knocking together so hard. Out of all people to be picked, why did it have to be Juniper, who couldn't even stand the sight of her own blood? She'd die in under a minute. Acacia knew, in even her best, most optimistic thoughts, she couldn't see Juniper lasting past the first day.

"I volunteer!" She heard a voice cry out, seemingly from far away. "I volunteer!" Her body was shoving those around her, and she found herself climbing a short staircase. _Why am I up here? _Somehow, she managed to put two and two together and realize she had volunteered for Juniper, but it just wasn't clicking. How could this be happening? She shouldn't have to volunteer for Juniper; the whole reason she worked three jobs was so that none of the children would have to take out tesserae. Even in doing her best, she had managed to fail.

The male tribute was called to the stage. Acacia knew she looked at him, knew she shook his hand before they were led offstage, yet she wouldn't have been able to pick the boy out of a lineup. Her mind was still completely spaced out. _I have a chance, Juniper didn't. _That's the only way she could explain her volunteering. Many others had siblings who were Reaped, and yet, they themselves didn't volunteer in their place. Maybe they had been equally as helpless as their sibling and knew no matter which of them was sent in the arena, they would come back in a box. But this was different. Acacia was not helpless or weak. She was no Career, but she stood a better chance than her sister.

In the Justice Building, she had an easier time than she would have thought remaining calm. Maybe her mind was still reeling from the shock of it all. The very real possibility of impending death, and the fact that she had volunteered for it, was a hard pill to swallow. Rowan and Amber were particularly upset, sputtering about how sorry they were for dirtying up their clothes today, as if it were the cause for Acacia volunteering. Little Maple didn't fully understand what was going on, except that everyone was upset. Juniper's tears were the heaviest, making it hard for Acacia to understand what she had to say. "Acacia… Acacia… You.. you saved… me… Ohmygod… I'm… sorry! I'm so sorry!" Acacia hugged her, smoothed her hair back from her face and gave her a kiss on the cheek.

"Juni… Juniper. The others are going to need you." Through some miracle, she kept her voice level and quiet in Juniper's ear. "I know this is hard, baby, I know. But I'll do my best, you'll see. Your sister is no dummy." Finally, she released Juniper from her grasp.

Ivy, who had been relatively quiet until now, approached her oldest sister with sad eyes much older than her years. "Here," she said digging a piece of paper from a pocket, "this is for you, Acacia. So you'll think of us in the arena. You need it more than me, now." Feeling rushed back into Acacia as she stared at the picture Ivy had drawn, of all the siblings standing together in a forest. It had obviously taken Ivy a lot of time and effort. A lump rose in her throat, and she stood up to embrace all of her siblings as tightly as she could.

They stayed that way until the Peacekeeper came banging on the door.

**District 9- Vera White**

_Keep your head down. Just keep your head down and get through it._ Every year, Vera White thought the same thing as she stood in the huge crowd among her fellow District 9-ers, waiting to see which of them would have the "honor" of participating in that year's Hunger Games. And though she didn't realize she was doing it, Vera would hold her breath as she saw each slip being pulled out of the giant glass bowl. With four younger siblings, being Reaped would be devastating for her family. Beyond being Reaped herself, there was the terrible possibility of one of her siblings being Reaped as well. Though right now she only had to worry about 14 year old Miller, next year Isaac would be eligible for his first Reaping as well. The more people you cared about, the worse your odds were.

Typically, no one expected much from a District 9 tribute, which made getting chosen all the worse. Dying in the Bloodbath was a common occurrence, though sometimes, someone managed to survive for a day or two. Either way, Vera tried her hardest at the Reapings to focus only on herself and her siblings getting out alive for another year, without staying around for any of the dramatics that typically occurred immediately following a Reaping. One trick she had taught herself years ago, at her very first Reaping, was to avoid looking at whoever got picked. When you looked at them, saw the fear in their eyes, saw them alive and in front of you, they became real. If only seen on TV, they could remain like characters in a book, existing only to play the role they were given. Once you saw the flesh and bone person, all bets were off. You saw their dreams crash around them; everything they could have been disappear in a heartbeat.

It was even worse when it was someone you knew. Then you couldn't ignore their absence, despite whether you looked at them during the Reaping or not. Up until this point, Vera had been lucky - no one she was close to had been Reaped. There were plenty of other children to be led to their deaths, so the chance of it being someone she knew well was relatively small. Once it had been a classmate in her year; thinking back she could hardly remember her name. Was it Rina or Renee? This would mark three years since the Game in which she had lost her life, at any rate. By this time, the poor girl's desk had long since been filled with another student, her friends no longer cried whenever her name was mentioned, her terrible death at the end of a spear no longer haunted Vera's dreams. Others had died since Rina-Renee; other deaths had replaced the citizens of District 9's minds. Rina-Renee and her District partner were just the tragedy of that year, to be replaced by two more fresh, young faces the following year.

What had Rina-Renee really been like, anyway? For a while Vera had wondered this and come to the sad conclusion that now, she would never know. Her poor 13 year old classmate was just a memory, fading until she would one day be entirely replaced with the mounds of other dead tributes District 9 would be forced to send to the slaughter.

While Vera didn't bother to pay close attention to the annual Reaping video, the "special treat" that the Capitol played for them every year, she had no patience for the people around her whispering and playing hand games. Two families were about to be changed forever; the least people could do was show a little respect. The Reapings were a solemn event for Vera; she couldn't understand why others couldn't take it as seriously. What made them confident enough to stand there and giggle at the stupid video, to point and laugh at some unfortunate soul's tattered clothing? She doubted their good humor would hold up if one of their names was called.

Unfortunately, through the huge crowd she couldn't see how her siblings were holding up. Hopefully they had the sense to at least look appropriately serious, unlike those next to her. Irritated, she shot a death glare at two girls pointing and giggling over nearby boys. "Shhhh!" She hushed them, holding a finger to her lips. How was this an appropriate time? One of the girls made a face and mimicked Vera's hushing gesture, sending them into further giggles, which were thankfully drowned out by the escort tapping on the microphone.

"Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be ever in your favor!" Though no doubt excited for the Hunger Games itself, the escort appeared to wish he had been assigned to any other district for the Reapings. There was nothing interesting about 9 to him, and usually the tributes followed suit.

The girls next to Vera had gone from pointing and giggling to shuffling nervously from foot to foot and biting their lips. _They only just figured out what's going on here?_ Vera couldn't help but think. If there was one thing she couldn't stand, it was people screwing around during something important.

The escort made his usual dip into the pool of names, swishing around slips theatrically for the camera. As much as he didn't want to be there in 9, if he ever wanted to move up, he needed to keep his own ratings up. "And now…let's see… who this year…" He dragged out the fragments as he slowly unfolded the slip. "Vera White!"

The air she had been unaware she was holding in was released in a slow, hissing noise. Fear would be the last emotion she would show; if being a District 9 tribute in the Games wasn't enough to seal her fate, she knew that crying would be. The sea of people surrounding her parted; the girls who, moments before had been annoying her half to death, stared at her with wide eyes and mouths parted into neat little Os. Resolutely, she set her jaw and walked towards the stage, stomach seeming to sink lower and lower with every step she took.

"Vera!" she heard, unable to make out who was shouting it. It sounded like her youngest sister, 8 year old Nia, but it could very well have been 9 year old Rosemary too. _Don't make a scene, Nia._ The last thing she wanted was for her sister to be publicly whipped for making a spectacle of herself.

On stage, she was able to see her own face appear on the screen; the same face that was appearing all over the Capitol televisions at this moment. Though inside she may have been quaking, the girl on screen appeared strong and in control. The Vera she saw had hardened brown eyes with dangerous golden flecks and a stance that could have fooled anyone into believing she was tough. Still, part of her held out the tiniest hope that someone might volunteer. While true that it rarely happened in her district, there was a first time for everything, right?

The focus on the big screen shifted away from Vera and back onto the escort, who was beginning his dramatic unfolding of the male tribute's slip. That's when Vera knew it wasn't going to happen. No one was going to save her. Though she fought hard to keep her façade, her knees began to knock together. With any luck, no one would notice this, as they were all focused on the boy whose name had just been called. Vera hadn't even been able to pay attention. What was his name? Looking away wouldn't help anymore; she might as well see who else was being sent off to die this year.

As the escort told them to shake hands, Vera took in her district partner. Or was he her opponent? Weren't they one and the same now? His pale skin and blue eyes greatly contrasted her own deep coffee skin and even deeper eyes. What opposites, this year's tributes.

"I give you your District 9 tributes for the 57th Hunger Games!"

_JUSTICE BUILDING- Post Goodbyes_

As long as there was even a small hope that she would come home to her family, she wouldn't give up. Any advice that anyone could give her would be welcome. She'd listen to anyone, do anything, to come home and see their faces again. Her head in her hands, she remembered Nia's sloppy kisses and Rosemary's silent tears, Isaac and Miller trying to be strong and failing. This couldn't be the last time she'd ever feel her mother's tight hug, or hear her father's gruff but loving voice. Hell, she'd even miss the achy muscles and sunburned limbs after a hard day's work on the farm. _No. No. I'm getting back. I have to get back, somehow. Somehow. _ She had to believe that, because without hope, there was nothing left.

**District 11 – Tassel**

"Clean yerselves up, yeh lazy sods!" the foreman yelled. Surprised, Tassel chanced a glance upward, to where the downturned face frowned at everyone. "Yeh heard me! Move it! Town square! We haven't got all day!" Tassel looked down the rot at the rest of kids around her age and saw they looked just as shocked as she felt. So the rumors were true, after all. They were attending the Reapings this year.

Up until this point, Tassel had never attended a Reaping before. She was a little scared of what she would see – watching two people get picked to fight to the death didn't seem entirely pleasant – but it sounded easier than toiling in the fields all day. The foreman wasn't happy about losing his workers for a few hours, but the Capitol had demanded that _all_ children of Reaping age be present, regardless of whether they worked or not. It wouldn't do to call a name and have the unlucky boy or girl be in some field miles away. This would be the first day for Tassel that the Reapings had any meaning; she was so used to endless work, to coming home at the end of the day and collapsing on her little heap of blankets on the dirt floor of the shack she lived in with her parents. There was rarely any time for anything else, and work was never canceled.

Following the other children, Tassel brushed the dirt off of her clothing as best as she could and used spit to wipe any stray dirt off of her face. The foreman glared at them from up on his tall chair as the group stumbled towards the town square, still looking disheveled and confused.

"I can't believe they really let us go!" Despite being forced to work in the hot fields all day, Tassel remained a friendly, chatty girl.

Her friend, Stalk, a short boy with dark skin and a shaved head, nodded in assent. "I know. Did you see the look on Foreman's face when he let us go? I thought he would burst!"

The two laughed together, enjoying that they had the freedom to do so. Laughter was rare in the fields, and something that you were liable to be punished for. There wasn't supposed to be anything fun or exciting about working, and if there was laughter, it must mean that work wasn't getting done. If you were lucky, Foreman would just yell from his chair, but if he were in a really foul mood, he might dock your pay for the day or order you a few lashings.

"The Capitol must _really_ want us there," Tassel said, imagining what a Reaping must look like. "I can't picture what it looks like, but I'm not sure I want to. It just seems so terrible."

"Of course the Capitol wants us there," a new voice chimed in. "Didn't you hear how pissed off the Peacekeepers were when they found out Foreman wasn't letting us attend the Reapings? _He_ almost got lashed himself. He's not so special that he can't shut down for a few hours like everyone else." The speaker was Bean, a perpetually sunburned girl with a fiery temper to match. "Now we're just going to have to walk to the Reaping and back, and then back home again. An extra trip in this blazing heat. Exactly what I was looking forward to today."

"Aren't you even a little curious, Bean? I mean, why do they want us this year, of all years?" Though Tassel and Stalk had both been eligible for two years, with this being their third, neither of them had ever been.

Bean looked down at Tassel with scorn. "You want to see this? _I've_ seen it before. Kids from this district get picked who can't even lift a weapon. Kids who would live and die in a field at home live and die in a field far from home. I've seen the Games, I've seen kids from here die. I'm in no hurry to see it again." After finishing her speech she spit in the dirt, not bothering to glance over at the two friends.

"I don't want to see the Games, Bean, no!" Tassel gasped, surprised that she would even insinuate such a thing. "I'm just curious, is all. Maybe it's true that the only reason we're going is because Foreman got in trouble. I just wanted to know." She shrugged her shoulders.

Stalk went to put an arm around his friend, hoping she wouldn't feel attacked by Bean. It was true that at times, Bean could be a little abrasive and come off the wrong way, but she was always clear about what she thought. If anything, at least she was honest. Tassel giggled and shoved Stalk's arm away. "You know I hate when you do that! I feel so bad that you have to stoop down to my level." For even though Stalk himself was short, Tassel didn't even reach five feet. The two of them walking together made for an odd pair, especially when Stalk insisted on putting his arm around her in a friendly gesture.

Bean snorted. "Let's just hope this is over fast, shall we?"

The trio was mostly silent the rest of the way there, watching others trudge out of their homes to make the journey into the town square, where the crowd was already humongous. Occasionally, Tassel commented on some of the ridiculous decorations the Peacekeepers had put up, or an observation she made about something or other, but for the most part, even she was subdued.

Getting her finger pricked was unpleasant, but it was over so fast she barely registered it happening. Since Bean had previously been to a Reaping, they followed her until she turned around and said, "You have to go further back. This is the 15 year old section. I'm sure some other kids from the field will already be there."

Nervously, Stalk and Tassel walked back one section further, eyes wide at all the fascinating things they saw. There were lights everywhere, shining from bulbs bigger than any Tassel had ever seen. And though she had heard of the "cameras" used to capture people's every move, and "televisions", where the things caught on camera appeared, she had never seen either one up close until now. It was overwhelming. And even as far back as she was in the crowd, the appearance of a woman average in height and weight and dressed in an outfit covered in ladybugs shocked her even more still. The woman was so beautiful, and so clean, unlike anyone Tassel had ever seen before, even among the few people that were considered wealthy. Her platinum blonde hair had clips designed to look like the bugs too, as Tassel could see when her image was projected onto the television. Part of her wanted to go up and touch the woman, to see if she was real. There was no way someone could be that perfect and be a real, flesh and blood person.

"Welcome, welcome!" The woman chirped, enthusiastically. Didn't the Reapings send children to their deaths? Tassel couldn't figure out why this woman was so happy. She was sure the Reapings would be a more solemn occasion, as was evidenced by all the grim faces around her. But this woman stood out like a sun that Tassel just wanted to bask in. Even if she was so cheerful over such a terrible thing, she was too dazzling not to get lost in.

So dazzling that even as Tassel's name was called, even as she mounted the stage to what was sure to be certain death, she became lost in the lovely texture of the woman's dress, the exact shade of red on her perfectly manicured fingertips.


	6. Train Rides, Part 1

**A/N: **_I'd like to mention that this story is semi/mostly canon. I'm keeping a lot of the same victors, but inventing new ones for years that we aren't sure who won. Also, there is quite a bit of foul language in this chapter, just be warned._

**District 2 – Mason Quary**

Mason couldn't remember the last day he'd felt this good. He had barely even registered his family's goodbyes before boarding the train. He'll be seeing them again soon, and with more money and fame than anyone could ever imagine. He'll also come back a savage killer, with all the glory that's due to someone bringing District 2 victory and honor.

Brutus, his mentor, looked extremely happy with his charge this year and it's no wonder why. Mason's father owned the District 2 training center, so he's expecting the very best, as he damn well should. Everyone's expecting the very best from Mason; he's been told this since he was a little kid, first able to handle a weapon. Throughout the years, people sometimes tried to convince him to turn it down a notch, or, as some put it, "stop being so full of yourself." But why should he? Why should he tone it down for people who obviously weren't even good enough to be in his presence? They'd be thanking God for him in a few short weeks, when he came back with a crown on his head bearing food and money for everyone. If only there was a way to limit who got a share of the spoils – there were some people Mason definitely felt were completely unworthy of sharing in the victory. Unfortunately, the Capitol dealt with the distribution of most of the goods, so Mason wouldn't get to play God in this regard.

He sprawled his muscular body over a couch near the TV, in order to get a good view of the Reapings; not that he felt a need to watch them. It didn't matter who else was going to be thrown into the arena with him; none would be as well trained and talented as he was. He was practically born with a sword in his hand; had grown up learning how to shoot a bow and arrow; had dedicated his life to winning. There would be no one who could possibly top him, not even the other Careers. They might think they knew what they were doing, and perhaps some of them were even good, but being simply "good" wasn't enough to best a star.

"Going to watch what the cat dragged in, are we?" Mason was temporarily distracted by the appearance of his district partner, Lux Atwood, who floated into the area and sunk into a chair on the opposite side of the room. She nodded up at the screen. "Probably the usual riff-raff. What are the chances we'd get some actual competition this year?" Lux knew Mason's type; knew his father owned the training center, knew the only thing that mattered in his life was winning the Games. She could play his type like a drum, seeing as how it was how many in the training center were.

Mason nodded savagely. He knew Lux frequented the training center, and he knew she was decent. He could crush her in a moment, of course, and wouldn't hesitate to do so, but she wouldn't make District 2 look terrible, and that was the important thing. Though the ridiculous nail polish and makeup didn't make sense to him, he supposed it wouldn't matter in the arena. And if it didn't matter in the arena, why bother with it at all? There wouldn't be someone there to paint your fingernails or give you a massage. She'd be in for a rude awakening.

"It's always a good idea to see your opponents, even if only to figure out how you're going to kill them." Brutus smiled evilly at his two charges and flipped on the television.

"It looks like we've missed my grand entrance," Mason groaned. He would have liked to see himself on screen, to see how the Capitol might have seen him. While true that his muscles were impressive and his volunteering fast, he wanted to make sure he had made enough of an impression to last when compared to the other 23 tributes. It was important that he project himself as fiercely as possible to give the Capitolites an idea of who was worth sponsoring from the get-go.

They tuned in right in time to see a small boy from District 6 get selected; one with a limp and a pathetic expression on his face. "You've got to be kidding me. I've seen five year olds stronger looking than that!" Mason humphed. That boy would be dead in seconds. The pale girl they picked next didn't seem much better. "I'll slice her open in the first thirty seconds, mark me." He glanced over in the direction of his district partner, who appeared to be taking in everything he was saying with rapt attention.

"Oh I know you will," she crooned. "I can't wait to see you take them down! Hopefully I'll get to help." _Let him think me simple_, Lux was thinking, _I'll take him down the second he lets his guard down, dumb lug._

Mason swelled with pride. "I'm sure there'll be plenty of blood for you to spill too." He liked this girl more than he had originally thought. Maybe there was a bloodthirsty and ruthless nature behind her unblemished face.

Brutus watched the two carefully. He wasn't sure if this girl was as big of an airhead as she was playing, but time would tell. With Mason, however, what you saw was exactly what you got. He had no qualms about proclaiming himself as God's gift to Panem, and truly believed that he was going to escape the Games unscathed. _I remember feeling like that_. The truth was, people tended to fight a lot harder than you expected when their life was on the line. Going into the arena, Brutus, too, had been sure he was going to win, and he had. It just hadn't been nearly as easy as he had dreamed it would be.

From Seven came a tall girl with defined arm muscles who at least looked a bit more of a challenge than the pair from 6. "She'll go for an axe, they always do," Mason confidently dismissed the girl. "Of course, she won't make it." His mind was already on what weapon he could find to destroy her – maybe he'd even slice her with her own clunky axe! What an interesting twist of events! The Capitol would be sure to love that.

He had been so caught up in this fantasy that he entirely missed the boy from Seven, and nearly the girl from Eight, who was wearing a tight, sleeveless black dress with feathers and jewels on the neck. "Ha! Look at her!" The pathetic thing was visibly shaken and only barely holding back tears.

"Look at what she's wearing. Do you think it came out of the Capitol reject bin?" sneered Lux. Mason snorted.

The boy from Eight didn't appear to be a threat either, but at least he didn't look as shaken. He was on the shorter side and actually looked irritated as opposed to scared. He marched up onto the stage, glaring defiantly at the escort. "Do you see this guy?" Mason found it amusing that this twerp wasn't shaking like his wimpy district partner. "Doesn't he realize we're going to slaughter him? Doesn't he realize who he's up against?"

"What a shock for him when he finds out," simpered Lux.

"Let's talk strategy," Brutus interjected over the two and the television. He was getting sick of this commentary; regardless of how well trained Mason was, he was also a pain in the ass who needed to be taken down to size. Quickly, he switched off the set, and looked across to the two of them. Lux, knowing her cue, got up and made a graceful exit, smiling at Mason on the way out. The two of them were being mentored separately, and Brutus had been hand-picked by Mason's father to train Mason. Though Brutus was extremely confident in Mason's physical abilities, he sometimes worried how his personality would appear before the rest of the world. While the Capitol enjoyed an arrogant, bloodthirsty tribute, you had to watch who you rubbed the wrong way, because it could very well mean death in the arena.

"What is there to strategize? I go in, I kill them, I come home. Simple." He made a sweeping gesture with one hand to display how trivial and easy he thought it sounded.

Brutus sighed and rubbed his temples. "The fact is, that you are an incredibly talented and dangerous Career, Mason. The best in the district. But-"he saw Mason puffing up again and was determined to get his point across, "the other districts are unknown variables. No, the lower districts you saw don't look like much. The ones after them probably aren't much either. But what about your fellow Careers, Mason? You don't know anything about how long they've been training or what their specialties are. You don't know if they'll stab you in the back in the middle of the night. So what? How do you plan to deal with that?"

Mason wore an amused expression as he leaned forward, towards Brutus. "Aw, Brutus man, don't worry about it! I'm Mason, remember? Mason fuckin' Quary. Nobody else can compare. I've trained at the hands of the very best. They all know that. Everyone has to know we turn out more victors than any other district. I'm not fussed. They'll see. They'll all see what happens when a Quary steps into the arena."

_I wish I could have stuck someone else with this kid._ As proud as he would be to mentor a victor, with such an attitude, he realized he'd have his work cut out for him getting Mason home alive.

**District 6 – Ayumi Gillette**

Ayumi being Reaped was just one of many things that Yuki, Ayumi's little sister, feared. And now it had happened. Ayumi buried her face in her hands and took a few deep breaths. She couldn't help being Reaped, but she still somehow felt guilty. Poor Yuki. Only 13 and with enough fears to fill a book. She could barely step out of the house without finding something new to be afraid of. What would Yuki do after she was gone?

"Are you okay?" Amanda, her mentor, asked. She knew how difficult the goodbyes were. It had only been a few years ago that she herself had gone through this same thing. Awkwardly, she placed a shaky hand on Ayumi's shoulder. _Damn morphling._ She had been almost 12 hours without it, and was feeling the effects greatly. Though morphling addiction was fairly common in District 6, and particularly among victors, it wasn't something Amanda was proud of. Almost ever since she had started she had been trying to quit, and failing. It seemed foolish to blame it on not knowing how strong it was, but it was at least partly true.

Ayumi inhaled and exhaled deeply, one last time before she nodded and looked up at her mentor. It was hard to believe this slight, wistful looking woman had won the Hunger Games. "I'm as okay as anyone who's been Reaped can be," she managed. Amanda seemed friendly enough. Perhaps she could talk to her. It was hard to find someone to open up to, and Ayumi wasn't one to approach people herself. Silently, she took in Amanda's slim frame, which was slightly quaking, her brittle looking deep brown hair. And her eyes. The mentor's eyes matched her hair and were filled with a certain sadness that seemed to reach into your very soul.

_Morphling_. Ayumi knew without a doubt that this woman was addicted to morphling. She had seen enough of addiction to know what it looked like, even in those that were good at hiding it. _If I win, I'll do anything… Just please, I couldn't live like her. _People like Amanda were to be pitied for their addictions – she hadn't always been like this. Indeed, Ayumi remembered seeing Amanda's Games – what had it been, five or six years ago now? She had been a strong, pretty young woman on the verge of adulthood; obviously not addled by morphling then, or she wouldn't have won.

Amanda sat next to her on the couch and turned on the television. "It might help to watch the Reapings. Get an idea of what's coming, potential allies…" Her voice drifted off, not sure if her new charge would appreciate her attempts at help, or prefer to be left alone. She remembered being inconsolable on the train, despite often putting on a brave front for the crowds.

"Yes, I agree," Ayumi's logical side took over. Even in times of distress, Ayumi wouldn't be Ayumi without her ability to analyze and plan. Though the Reapings only showed a very small fragment of a person, and indeed, some people put on airs for the cameras, they were somewhere to start.

The commercial featuring a perky woman with lime green hair advertising perfume switched back to the main feature – the Reapings. As usual, One looked threatening. The girl was beautiful and volunteered with confidence, knowing she belonged there. The boy, just as blonde as his district partner, and equally attractive, took his place beside her. Two almost looked like a rerun of One. Ayumi had to do a double take to make sure they weren't doing the One Reapings all over, for the girl was just as lovely as the one before her, and equally flawless. Taking in her painted finger and toe nails and pink lipstick, Ayumi couldn't help feeling disgusting in comparison. She just looked so impeccable. That appearance didn't fool her, though; Careers didn't get to be Careers by looking pretty. All three of the tributes already shown had to have deadly talents, or they wouldn't be volunteering.

The district Two boy was huge and menacing. He practically raced up the stage to volunteer shouting out his intention before the escort had even gotten the first syllable out of the Reaped tribute's name. Everything about him was arrogant, though it was easy to see why, with those huge muscles he boasted. Sponsors would be flocking to One and Two, but that was hardly unusual. She'd place her money, if she had any, on a boy like that too.

Next came Three, which looked small and pathetic compared to the Careers that had preceded them. Neither looked older than Ayumi's own 15 years. The boy appeared defiant, the girl, inquisitive.

Just as they were about to show District 4, Ayumi's district partner made an appearance. She felt bad for the kid – what terrible luck, to be picked on your first Reaping. And he was just so cute with those big curious eyes and curly brown hair. Part of her had to refrain from petting him.

"Hey Hunter!" Amanda's voice was friendly, but not overly excited. She didn't want to seem like those phony Capitol people, always with a smile on their faces. She was, and always would be in her own mind, just another girl from District 6. "We're just watching the Reapings; care to join?"

_Not him_. As terrible as it sounded, even to herself, Ayumi knew she did not want her district partner as an ally in the arena. She didn't know what she would do if he asked. On one hand, she would feel terrible saying no, but on the other hand, if it would help bring her back to Yuki and the rest of her family…

"What a moron." Hunter's voice broke the silence that had descended. "Seriously, does he think he has a chance?" Ayumi looked on in surprise at what Hunter saw – a volunteer from 5. He was doing his best to look menacing, but after the boy from 2, Ayumi doubted she could find anyone as threatening. As tough as they might be in their home district, even the nastiest bullies fell to the Career's swords. Next would be their Reaping – something she didn't want to see, and was sure Hunter didn't either.

"So, who're you coming home to?" Ayumi heard herself asking. Anything to get their minds off of seeing their faces on TV. She knew the second she saw herself on the screen she'd start doubting, and rethinking every action she had taken since her name had been called. As there was no way to travel back in time and redo anything, she'd have to be content with things as they had actually happen, and that meant probably not watching.

The younger boy gaped at her. "Do you really think I'm going home? Or that either of us is going home? No 12 year old has ever won before. And you… Maybe you have a better chance, 'cause you're older, but you're still gonna die. It'll just take longer."

Jeez. Did she always have to say the wrong thing? Ayumi gritted her teeth and ignored his harsh, but probably true, words. She couldn't believe they were coming from a 12 year old. Amanda started to say something, but Ayumi cut into her, without thinking about it. Her voice quiet, she said, "I'm going to see my brother and sister again. Rio and Yuki. Rio will be safe now at least; next Reaping he'll be 19. Then he won't need to worry about taking out any more tesserae. He always wants to take care of us…"

She shook her head and looked down, thinking about how upset he had been at himself for allowing her to be Reaped. "There's nothing you can do, Rio, and nothing you could have done. I love you." She remembered her final hug with her brother, and his muttering, "If only I could have taken out more tesserae so you girls could have been safe." But of course the Reapings didn't work that way. Even if Ayumi had never taken out tesserae, her name would still have been in there 4 times, so perhaps she would have been called anyway.

"And then Yuki, she's so sweet. Afraid of everything that moves, but the sweetest girl ever. You'd like her, Hunter. She's only a year older, and would definitely appreciate your wit." Yuki's goodbye had been tearful and her words unintelligible. It had taken all the strength Ayumi had had not to burst into tears with her little sister.

Hunter was looking at her, his face softened slightly. "What about… I mean, do you still have your parents?"

Ayumi nodded. "Mom and Dad. Mom felt so guilty." Despite herself, her eyes began to water. "She works and works and it still isn't enough. She partly blames herself. Dad too. He never wanted my siblings and I to take out tesserae, but we didn't give him a choice. We did it anyway. It put food on the table." Once food was guaranteed through the tesserae, they would concentrate on heating the home in the winter and buying enough winter clothes to keep themselves warm against the harsh winter.

Until this point, Amanda seemed to have melted into the background. "Hunter… How about you?" She finally asked. "Family? Friends?"

With a scowl on his face, Hunter answered, "I didn't even see him! They made him do a stupid delivery two days ago and he still isn't back yet! And now I'll never see him again!" He couldn't help being angry and half-shouting. Anyone in his position would be, he reasoned. He shook off Amanda's well-meaning hand, which she had reached around Ayumi to place on Hunter's shoulder. Ayumi wanted to reassure him there was nothing wrong with being upset or crying, especially in a situation like his, but out of fear of once again saying the wrong thing, she remained silent. His crossed arms left no room for conversation. They had missed the rest of the reapings; an announcer was giving "first impression" speeches about each of the tributes and trying to sell tickets to various events. "Well, now that that's over." Amanda switched the tv off. "I guess it's better in person to decide who you might want to ally with. You'll get a better feel for everyone then." Ayumi nodded. She wasn't one to jump into anything too quickly, at any rate. "We won't be in the Capitol for at least another six hours, so." She handed the remote over to Ayumi. "Knock yourself out kid."

Ayumi found herself glued to the Capitol soaps, finding herself fascinated by all the complex relationships; relationships that she had never been able to form in real life. Eventually she dozed off, entering a world where she looked just like a Capitolite version of herself and everyone wanted to be her friend.

**District 10 – Kaleem Dursatt**

The dinner Kaleem ate on the train was, by far, the best meal he had ever had. He couldn't remember ever seeing so much food in his life – platters of meat, cheese, vegetables and desserts littered the table. Everything was fresh and perfectly cooked, like nothing he had ever had before. By the end of the meal, he felt heavy and sleepy; never before had the opportunity to eat so much ever arisen. He could feel the Capitol escort looking at him with barely disguised disgust as he wiped a greasy hand onto the tablecloth.

"That," she snapped, tossing a white cloth at him from across the table, "is what a _napkin_ is for."

"Really?" He snapped right back, annoyed. "Well this is what a starving District 10 kid looks like." With that, he lifted up his shirt to expose his ribs, which one could see the outline of through his skin. Though they had been better off in recent years, Kaleem still remembered the days when he and his family had lived on the street, after his father had lost his job. Even now, with his father's job paying as poorly as it did, food wasn't always easy to come by, and sometimes, he had had to take out tesserae so he and his siblings could eat. Having food itself was enough to celebrate, napkins be damned. Plenty of times that had eaten with their hands, too, which no doubt would shock the Capitol citizens even more. It was only during their best days that they bothered to drag out the silverware; otherwise it was just another hassle in an already busy household.

The escort averted her eyes as though seeing something she shouldn't. "We're at the table now, how terribly rude, that isn't something _civilized_ people do."

Kaleem looked to his district partner, a girl who had introduced herself early as Ambrose Tanner. He knew of both her and her parent's butcher shops; unfortunately, his family couldn't afford much meat, and when they could, it was usually only the poorer cuts. As such, he rarely had opportunity to see Ambrose before, and had usually frequented her parent's shop for their cheaper prices. The elder Tanners were desperate to keep their shop afloat after their daughter had set up her own shop, and as such, often sold their meat at a much cheaper rate.

Ambrose raised an eyebrow and smirked back across the table at Kaleem. Even though she had a good deal of money and ate well, the quality of the Capitol food had impressed her as well. "Yes, lower your shirt, why don't you?" She asked, though not unkindly, nodding in the direction of the horrified escort. "We don't want to breach any Capitol etiquette, after all." Amused, she raised her glass filled with wine to her lips and took a sip.

Truth be told, the only thing Kaleem was sure of so far was that he liked the food. He wasn't sure what to think of his odd district partner, whom he had heard tell of, but otherwise seemed perfectly fine. He wasn't sure what to think of the strange Capitol woman, whose mannerisms, clothing, everything, was so completely different from what he considered normal. And he wasn't sure what to think of being treated like a king only to be put to death very soon. The whole situation was very confusing.

"So," Ambrose began, putting down her wine glass, "I have no intention of going down without a fight and I'm sure you don't either, Kaleem." She ran her tongue over her bottom lip, taking in the tart remnants of wine still left in the crevices. "We need to represent our district well." She smiled at him and leaned back in her chair, regarding him carefully from across the table.

"Yes, you most certainly do!" The escort huffed. "I'll say you aren't off to a most impressive start!"

"As you no doubt already know," Ambrose continued, as though she hadn't been interrupted, "I have my own butcher shop. I kill and slice things every day for a living. As such, I'm pretty handy with any sort of knife or cleaver." The older girl paused and looked at Kaleem expectantly. It was obvious she was waiting for him to reveal a talent, to see if he would be worth allying with in the arena. Allying with your district partner was typical, but if one person felt the other was going to be a drag, it wasn't unheard of to leave that person to fend for themself.

Kaleem thought for a moment. The few fights he had been in usually resulted in him getting his ass kicked, so hand to hand combat was out of the question. Unlike Ambrose, he had little experience butchering meat. "Well…" He began slowly, not wanting to screw this up. As a scrawny fourteen year old kid, he doubted many others would take any interest in him. If he wanted an alliance, he had best try his hardet to make Ambrose like him. "I suppose I'm a good climber." While true enough, this didn't impress Ambrose, who merely an eyebrow. "And… uhm… I'm not sure that this will help, because I've never actually tried before," he spluttered, "but I have pretty good aim, so maybe throwing knives or a bow and arrow or something."

Smiling, his partner leaned forward. "I think we might be on to something there, Kaleem."

"Now wait a minute!" the escort interjected. "You should be discussing strategy with your mentors, they do know best after all! Let me go see if I can find them!" And the Capitol lady pushed out her chair, neatly pushed it back in, and hurried from the room.

After rolling his eyes in the direction of the annoying woman, Kaleem turned back to Ambrose. "I hope. I mean, like I said, I've never actually tried to use throwing knives or anything. I've never even held a bow and arrow." Thinking about trying to master a weapon in the three days they were given for training seemed overwhelming. What happened if he was terrible at everything?

For a moment, everything was silent. The filter that was never there in the first place let loose completely and he blurted out, "So why do you hate your parents so much, anyway? I sure wish I could have my momma back." He waited mutely for her answer. While he really wanted to know the answer to this question, he was afraid he'd get a flash of Ambrose's dark side; the side that threw rotten meat in her parent's house. People talked. Rumors flew unchecked. And if he was going to spend his last few days or weeks or however long he had left with only this girl from home, he might as well know the truth.

Ambrose seemed to consider him for a moment. "What happened to your mother?" She asked, taking Kaleem by surprise.

He hesitated only slightly before answering, "She died, giving birth to my sister. They couldn't do anything." The memories of her screams of pain still echoed in his mind, when he thought about her. He had a hard time remembering her any other way, the older he got. Dying in childbirth wasn't uncommon in the district; midwives could only do so much and sometimes nature just took its course.

"She must have been a great woman, for you to miss her so much," Ambrose said softly, absently playing with the tablecloth. "And what about your father? Your siblings?" She let go of the cloth and looked back up, as though absorbed in what he was about to say.

"My dad works really hard, every day. His job doesn't pay much, so I usually watch my siblings, though Jada likes to try to help. She's 11 now…" He trailed off, sadness filling his features as he thought of how Jada would be mostly alone in raising the younger two. "She helps take care of Loclan, who's 9, and Liliana, who is 7."

"Your family is different," Ambrose told him, quietly. "You could resent your sister for killing your mother, but I see that you don't." Outraged, Kaleem sprang out of his seat, ready to yell, how dare she say such a thing. Seeing his anger, she held up a hand. "I see you don't," she intoned firmly. "It wasn't her fault, which explains why you don't hate her. My parents are a different story. They meant to cause harm. I doubt you've ever heard how, as a child, I was brutally whipped by Peacekeepers. Yes, they whipped me to a pulp at just ten years old." Her voice had gotten low and angry as she recounted her story. "I was just ten and what do you think my parents did? What would most loving parents do? I'm pretty sure they wouldn't throw their only child out into the street and claim she deserved it."

Kaleem sat back down, transfixed by this tidbit of information. How could someone treat their own child that way? Though his father was hardly ever home to care for them, if one of them had been unlucky enough to fall under the wrath of a Peacekeeper, he would get them the best medical care he could afford, even if it wasn't much.

"Yeah," she spat bitterly, "so that's why I hate my parents. They had a choice. They could have helped me, and they could have had the most successful butcher shop in town with me working for them. But, as you can see, they chose otherwise." Her eyes met his. "You have people depending on you, Kaleem. None of them cared enough about me."

She spoke the truth, he realized. Though poor, his family had love and respect for each other. His siblings needed him. His father depended on him. Sadly, he realized just how very hard it would hit them if he were to die. His resolve stiffened. I will succeed. I'll try every damned weapon until I can find one I'm good at. At the very least, he'd make sure, in his final moments, his family knew he hadn't gone down easily.

**District 11 – Billy (BJ) Jesphire**

"And now our male tribute," the escort pauses and reads out the name, "Billyyyyy Jesphire!" The camera takes a moment to find him but once it does, it zooms in showing a tall, dark skinned boy with long dreadlocked hair scowling at nothing in particular. "Of course I was," the BJ on TV mutters, loudly enough so the cameras pick it up. After an initial roll of his eyes, he trudges up to the stage, feet scuffing the ground and eyes cast downward.

"Now what in the hell do you call that?" snapped Chaff, glaring up at his new pupil and switching off the TV. "Who the hell is gonna wanna sponsor someone like that?" He takes a swig from a flask on his hip, grimacing as the strong alcohol slips down his throat.

BJ shrugged, avoiding contact with his mentor's eyes. "I don't give a damn," he answered, voice surprisingly loud.

"I'd say you better start giving one, and soon." Another mouthful of booze. "I can't do anything for you if you don't. This act will only bring you back one way, and that's in a big wooden box." He eyed the large boy carefully. "How old are you anyway, Billy?" Though the boy appeared to be seventeen or eighteen, he acted younger. Most older tributes that Chaff had mentored, no matter upset they were at being Reaped, had the sense to know they needed to come up with an angle, and fast.

Surprised by the change of conversation, BJ answered simply, "Fifteen."

_Still old enough to be know better._ Chaff couldn't help but think. "You know what, I think acting all tough might just bring you back. It's what brought me back, and if you can _pretend_, even a little bit, that you don't hate each and every one of those Capitolites, you might just stand a chance in there." Though being tough tended to work for the Careers, and God knew it gave them a lot of sponsors, being tough and hostile towards the Capitol didn't work for anyone. If this kid could only channel his rage into appearing eager for the Games and vicious, he might gain all the sponsors he needed.

BJ just glowered at his mentor. His advice was crap. "I do, though. I do hate each and every one of them. _Especially_ now." He wasn't going to sit around and listen to this much longer. There was nothing this man could do to bring him back, and he was a fool for trying. District 11 only boasted two victors; one of whom had survived by fighting, and the other, by nearly starving to death before she managed to outlast her other opponents. Roughly he pushed back his chair and stood up. "Look, you just do whatever. Drink some more. I don't want your help." Leaving Chaff sitting there, he stormed off down the hall and stepped into a random room, happy to just be away from that stupid man.

The room was small, and furnished only with two large, deep blue armchairs. BJ turned his to face the window, watching the landscape rush past him. Whatever happened, he knew this- he wasn't going to put on an act to please anybody. He didn't want to be here, and if asked, he would make that clear from the get-go. If there was one thing he hated (one of a long last) it was these tributes during their interviews that made like they loved the Capitol. Like Caesar Flickerman was their new best friend and they weren't about to die. They spent their last days in life praising the very government that was about to kill them for no damned reason at all.

His thoughts drifted over to his poor little sister, Orah. Unfortunately, he wouldn't be there to talk her through her first Reaping next year. Though he wouldn't have been able to reassure her that she wouldn't get picked, (because for all he knew, he could end up being a liar) he would at least be able to hold her hand up until the separation point, where she was forced into the twelve year old section, in the way back of the crowd, away from him. He could visualize her tear streaked face and trembling body as she waited for the name of that year's tribute to be called.

Damnit, he just hated them all! He hated himself for getting Reaped, as ridiculous as that was. He hated the escort for picking his name, President Snow for having the Games, the Capitol citizens for enjoying them, and Chaff for winning. With the exception of Orah, there was barely a single person he could think of who escaped his wrath. He hated the plague-like disease that had taken his parents three years ago, and he hated his parents for catching it and dying. He hated his aunt and uncle and cousin Poppy, because they were still there, comfortable at home with Orah, while he was being sent on a ridiculously furnished train to be murdered. In fact, he even hated—

"Oh, there you are! I've been sent to tell you that dinner will be ready soon, and you're expected to come!" The voice was too bright and cheerful, but also too young and female sounding to be the escort. He turned his head and looked at the speaker; an incredibly small girl with a friendly looking face and wavy brown hair.

"I don't need any of that damned Capitol food," he responded gruffly.

The girl came over and took a seat next to him in the other chair. "You aren't hungry? I'm almost _always_ hungry. I can't wait to see what food they have!" She was practically bouncing in her chair. Her optimism in the face of such despair reminded him of Orah, who always seemed to find a silver lining. "I'm sorry, I don't really remember your name from before – I'm Tassel." She smiled, a bright infectious smile that in some ways, made him angrier. This sweet girl was going to be dying on the ground, bleeding out her lifeblood very soon on national TV to cheering crowds. Either that, or she'd starve to death, or drown, or meet any other number of limitless, life ending possibilities.

"BJ." He didn't really want to be rude to her; it wasn't her fault she was here. Like many others in the district, she had probably been forced to take out a lot tesserae in order to survive. Even though he didn't want to be unkind to her, he also didn't want to get too friendly with anyone, after all, there was only going to be one victor, and he was certain it wasn't going to be one of them. Best not to get attached.

He saw her eyeing his scar with a question in her face. It was right there, running from his left eyebrow down to his lip, and as such, impossible to ignore. However, that wasn't a good story for right now. That he had bested a drunken man who had attacked him a few months ago might give everyone false hope that he was some sort of prodigy with a knife. Truth be told, it wasn't that difficult to wrest a knife away from a man who was already falling down drunk. The attack had caught him by surprise; if only he had paid better attention to his surroundings he probably would have noticed the drunken fight had gotten louder and louder, that the man who yelled about being cheated had mistaken him for someone else. He wouldn't have this nasty scar on his face, and people wouldn't stare like he had some interesting story to tell about it.

"Seeder said there are plenty of advantages to being from a lower district, you know," Tassel chirped after a moment of silence. "Nobody expects anything from us, and yet, we have a lot of talents everyone overlooks."

This was enough for BJ. He had had it with the false optimism, the ridiculous things the mentors and escorts said in order to keep a small bit of hope alive inside their tributes. He hated them for giving this little girl any notion that she might come out alive, but he hated himself just as much for what came out of his mouth next, even if it was the truth. "Talents? Our 'talent' is that we die fast. We're the easiest to kill. You and I, we'll get a minute in, maybe two. Is that a talent?"

He glanced at her, expecting tears to be welling up in her eyes or a look of defeat to cross her features. Instead, her face was screwed up in a fury that seemed bigger than the girl itself, big enough to envelop the entire tiny room. "You can die then!" She cried, jumping off the chair suddenly. "But don't you think I'm giving up just 'cause you are!" Tassel stomped towards the door, and turned back to spit out, "I'll see you at dinner." She left BJ alone, leaving him to consider, for one of the first times ever, if maybe he was wrong to discount the two of them. In the time it took him to ponder the thought, he discarded it again. He was going to die. She was going to die. That was just the way things were.


	7. Train Rides, Part 2

**A/N: Again, sorry for so long without updates! The intros were more difficult than I thought, so I can't say I'm entirely pleased with this chapter. But thankfully, these are now done and we can get into the real meat of the story, where everyone really gets to show their true colors! I'll admit the endings I rushed through in the end, and the chapter after this is pretty much done, excepting a few minor changes. I promise to take more care in the future guys, I know you really wanted a chapter and I really wanted to get it out for you, but yet, this one doesn't do it for me. I'll stop apologizing so you can read. :P**

**District 1 – Maverick Knar**

****

_It's going to be a long few days_, Diamond though as she tiredly rubbed her eyes. Though it was a great honor to be a mentor and one she usually enjoyed, there was something about this year's two tributes that just rubbed her the wrong way.

The girl, Empress – well, the district had plenty of spoiled rich girls just like her, girls who, while they might be good enough to make it to the Games, didn't have much in the ways of personality beyond being entitled snobs. Maybe she thought her little art projects made her a different species from the other District 1 tributes, but they really didn't. Right now she was carefully considering between two shades of pine green, in an apparent attempt to decide which best represented the District 1 escort's hair color. Empress was a dime a dozen and one Diamond could deal with, as she had for years.

It was the male tribute, Maverick, that irritated her to no end. Since boarding the train, he had talked almost non-stop, about anything and everything. She had answered a million questions already as to her Games, the Capitol, what to expect. If it weren't for the excitement shimmering in his eyes, she might have guessed him to be nervous; definitely not something one from a Career district wanted to project.

"What do you think is the most important thing you learned from your Games, Diamond? What kinds of things do you wish you had known before?" Maverick shook his shaggy blonde hair from his eyes and smiled good naturedly at his mentor. As of yet, she hadn't given any outward signs of annoyance; constantly being hounded by rich Capitol men had taught her the importance of being able to keep a pleasant demeanor, even when annoyed.

"Never trust anyone and know when to keep your mouth shut," she replied easily, getting up and making to move to the other room. "I think I'm going to take a nap before we get to the Capitol. There will be a huge crowd to greet us, and I think I need to rest up beforehand." She feigned a yawn and glided from the room, eager to give her ears a break from the endless questions.

Empress waited until the mentor had left the room before snorting out, "That was such a useful piece of advice." She didn't look up from her drawing as she spoke.

"But it is, isn't it?" Maverick heard the sarcasm and chose to ignore it. "Even us – we tend to trust our alliance and are surprised when it falls apart. It may seem like simple advice, but it's something we all forget." He stopped for a second, eying his partner's drawing. It was good, but- "I think the other shade of green suited his hair better."

"Do you think so?" For the first time, Empress glanced up into her district partner's eyes. It was enough to make him feel like melting. Though District 1 had its share of beauties, he rarely had the occasion to speak to one up close. He was used to the interaction that came with training, and the occasional high fives and claps on the back from his friends at school, but not the stunning feeling that came with speaking with attractive women. It almost felt like his brain had turned into mush.

"Yeah, I do," he answered, taking a seat across from her. "But I really like what you did here, showing how old he is." He pointed to the subtle lines creasing Cassius' brow. "He can get all the surgery he wants, but it can't hide that he's aging."

Empress rolled her eyes, thinking about it. "You'd think they would know how to stop aging by now. They can do just about everything else." She looked back down, considering some finer points in the drawing.

Maverick didn't want to stop talking. He didn't know what to do with silence – that old foe that slaughtered his confidence without a word. "You're always in the bow station. I can't remember what I normally see you with though," he snapped his fingers and looked down. "No, no, don't tell me, I think I know… Crossbow, isn't it?" Crossbows were bulky, and rarely ever in the arena. As such, not many people usually practiced with them, figuring that out of all the weapons, it was one of the more useless ones. Empress was one of the few dedicated to the weapon, learning all there was to know. In fact, come to think of it, he had rarely, if ever, seen her at another station.

Surprised by his observation, she raised an eyebrow and faced him again. She most certainly had not noticed him, not that she'd have any particular reason to. If he had ever spoken to her before, it had been related purely to training and nothing of a personal nature. "It is," she answered carefully, wondering all the while why he cared, or had noticed in the first place.

"I'm sort of a jack of all trades. I've trained with everything. I can't say I'm big into the crossbow, but I admire how dedicated you are to it."

Em fiddled with the pencil she held. On one hand she really wanted to get this drawing done, but her district partner obviously had no intention of shutting up any time soon. Maybe she could finish tonight before bed. Stifling a sigh, she set the drawing aside and replied, "I've trained with a crossbow since I first started training. Most people probably thought it was a strange choice for a little girl just starting out, but I just felt connected to it. It took a lot of hard work, but none of the other weapons work for me the way the crossbow does. I'm not sure if this makes sense to you, especially because you don't have a weapon that's yours, but it's the only way I can describe it."

Maverick nodded, trying to figure out what to say next. Truth be told, it wasn't always easy for him to keep a conversation flowing, especially without eventually annoying people. He saw the eye rolls when people thought he wasn't looking, saw the impatience in their eyes. Sometimes trying to figure people out was like one big juggling act and he was very close to dropping the balls. Some people didn't have to say anything, but they still managed to command a certain type of presence that made people always want to be around them. The few words they did speak left people enthralled, hanging on for more.

And then there were others, like Maverick. If he didn't speak, he wouldn't be one of the cool, silent types, he'd just fade into obscurity. If there was one fear Maverick was possessed of, it was being forgotten; a nobody. And even though it might pester others at times, he was determined to remind everyone that he was still real.

"I'm sure you'll find a favorite in the arena. We all do." Empress's words rang true to Maverick, and he could tell she was trying to brush him off a little to finish her drawing. That was cool. He could take a hint this time. As much as he didn't want to stop the conversation, he would leave Empress with her drawing of Cassius for now. The last thing he wanted to do was make an enemy of such a pretty woman so early in the Games, particularly when that woman happened to be his district partner.

"You're right," he smiled at her and turned towards the door, as though he really had somewhere to go. Surely there would be some other people on the train he could talk to. "I'm sure I'll find one."

**District 5 – Elysha Rayes**

This was it. After living 13 long and sometimes, difficult, years, Elysha Rayes was finally going to see what lie beyond the fences of District 5. Eagerly, she glued herself to a chair next to a window, overlooking the landscape rushing by. Right now, they were still in her boring home district. She couldn't wait to see more. Elysha tapped her feet on the ground, wondering how long it would be before she saw something different. Though she wasn't sure exactly what she was looking for, she'd appreciate it when she saw it.

"Cornelia?" She bounced in her chair, looking over to where the Capitol escort sat, engrossed in a magazine. Waiting until Cornelia glanced up from her magazine in mild annoyance, she asks, "How long until we're out of District 5?"

"Oh, it's going to be at least another hour, dear," she answered. "We'll be cutting through Six briefly, and then One before we hit the Capitol. Over all, the journey shouldn't take more than four hours or so." She glanced back down at her magazine, trying to find her place. In it is a rather intriguing article titled, "How to Place Your Bets – Your Guide to This Year's Hunger Games." As she knows from way before she was ever an escort, it's very hard to wait to start placing bets until the Bloodbath is over, however, it tends to be the smartest thing to do.

"What about the Capitol? What's it going to be like there? Can you tell me more? I don't know very much about it."

Cornelia sighed and put down her magazine. If she were being honest with herself, she wouldn't place bets on either of her tributes this year. It will be a miracle if either receives any sponsors. This year, the Reapings have stuck her with a raving lunatic and a weak little girl. Even the laughingstock that is District 12 probably has better odds this year. No point in trying to read the article anyway; all it's going to do is advise people against the very tributes she's going to have to pretend to believe in. Besides, short of getting up and moving to another section of the train, Cornelia can't see any way to escape the girl's questions, and she's quite comfortable where she is.

"It's beautiful." Cornelia struggled for a minute to find the right words to describe her beautiful home. "Everything is clean," she struggled to not say 'unlike your district,' before continuing, "and bigger. The buildings are bigger than anything you've ever seen. You'll spend most of your time in your district apartments and the training center. I'm sure you'll find everything more than satisfactory." She forced a smile onto her lips. "Does that answer your question?"

The younger girl scrunched up her face as she tried to imagine what "more than satisfactory" could possibly mean. Maybe she'd get a real bed. She was pretty sure Capitolites didn't sleep in heaps of blankets on the floor with their siblings and that they ate more than once a day, but the rest was a mystery and guesswork to her. Of course, rumors always flew around school, particularly during the Games, _"I hear they have flying cars, or at least, the President does," _one student would say, followed by another, "_Well, I heard they eat six meals a day, and serve meat at all of them!_" Some more claims would follow about how people owned multiple houses, or how Capitolites injected their eyes with dye every few months to change the color. Some rumors were definitely more believable than others, but sitting in the presence of this elegant woman, Elysha was no longer sure what was impossible as far as the Capitol was concerned.

"Is it true that you have meat at every meal?" She heard herself asking, and instantly wishing she could take it back. _What a stupid thing to ask, dope._

Cornelia raised a sculpted eyebrow. "Some might," she answered, frowning slightly with disapproval, "but I, myself, don't eat meats, or at least, red meat." Seeing Elysha's incredulous expression, she added, "Everyone knows that if you overindulge in red meat, you'll be spending more time in the surgeon's chair, getting it sucked out of you. I, for one, cannot afford to be there that often. That procedure costs an arm and a leg, it's really a sin what they charge."

Elysha hung on to every word uttered in awe. _They can eat meat whenever they want. It IS true._

The Capitol that flooded her head was a heaven, full of beautiful people like Cornelia and delicious foods just waiting to be devoured. She would live in a house as big as the Justice Building, maybe even _bigger_, as hard as it was to imagine. As a much younger girl, she had first heard of _castles_ and _palaces_ which her parents had told her were, in fact, even bigger than the Justice Building. Kings and queens lived in castles a long time ago, and President Snow lived in a palace of his own now. Maybe she would even get to see one up close.

"Do we get to go into the President's palace?" She asked, unable to stop the flood of questions from coming out. Already, she had asked more questions on the train than she ever had in school, surprising herself. Usually she didn't have a very easy time talking to people, but natural curiosity had gotten the better of her.

"If you're the Victor." _Why was this girl asking all these questions?_ Hopefully she didn't think she was actually coming back. Cornelia didn't want to give her false hope that it was a possibility. While she wouldn't be as cruel as to tear the poor thing down, she viewed it as equally cruel to encourage the idea that nothing bad would happen to her. Her short stature, wide green eyes, and the smattering of freckles plastered across her face projected innocence, and innocence never won the Games. There was no such thing as an innocent victor, so let people aww and oooh as they would during her chariot ride and interview; she was willing to bet that Elysha would get no sponsors, despite her cute features. No, not despite her cute features, _because_ of them. As sorry for her as people might feel, sponsorship didn't come cheap, and no one would waste it on a weak tribute.

Elysha nodded slowly, taking it all in. She was slightly disappointed that she wouldn't get to visit the President's palace right away, but her mind was already fluttering on to tens of other topics. "I've always just wanted to be somebody, you know?" Her voice was excited, unable to contain how she felt any longer. "Someone important. Someone other than just another girl in the district. I want to see things, go places. I never thought I actually would."

"Well, you get to be somebody now, Elysha." It was the first time during the entire conversation that Cornelia had used her charge's name. Smiling in what she thought to be a kind way, she continued, "It's going to be the trip of a lifetime, I promise you that!"

When Elysha had first heard her name leave the escort's lips, when she understood that this time _she_ was going into the Games, that she was not protected, her first instinct had been to scream in terror. Though she had managed to suppress that urge, she had been unsuccessful at restraining the tears that flowed from her eyes. Some years, tributes did scream in terror, or sob loudly, rivulets of snot and tears streaking down their faces. On a rare year, someone might actually try and run, as ridiculous as it was. Where was there to go? Where could anyone hide?

Once she had gotten past the original terror of being chosen, however, Elysha realized she might as well enjoy everything she could about the Capitol and forget about the upcoming Games. While it was true she could never forget them entirely, that they would remain lurking in the back of her mind until the day she was launched into the arena, she did the only thing she could do – accept it. This was happening. There was nothing she could do to change that. She might as well revel in the Capitol and its luxury while she was still alive, and pretend she was finally the somebody she had always wanted to be.

**District 8- Elliot Oxford**

"I remember you." Elliot wasn't sure if this was a good or bad thing coming from his district partner. He was one of those people that others tended to hate or love, and so far, he had no idea which camp India Blair fell in. Elliot bowed deeply in jest before settling into a chair in what he assumed to be the dining room of the train. The table was filled with tempting cookies and candies, as well as a more modest bowl of fruit in the center. If this was only a pre-dinner, he'd have to be careful about what he ate or he wouldn't have room for any more of the delicacies that were sure to follow. Smiling, he made a gesture at India to sit as though it were his table to invite her to sit at instead of the Capitol's. India sat as obliged, brown eyes appraising him thoughtfully. And here it would come, the inevitable accusation or-

"You stole Stella's lunch last month." At the blank look on his face, she continued, "Stella Queen, or don't you remember? Long, black hair? Kinda shy? No?" Somehow she had refrained from being accusatory and sounded as though she were simply asking after something mundane, such as the weather.

Elliot did remember now. Of course, he hadn't known whose lunch it was when he had stolen it – he had simply picked up the first one he came across in the room, and switched it with his own offerings – a hard heel of bread in a brown sack. Of course, the girl had looked utterly confused when they returned from their Outdoor Exercise time for lunch and found only the heel of bread in her sack. It wasn't quite as bad as _stealing_, he had reasoned, it was more like _unauthorized trading_. It wasn't as if he had left her with nothing; he had just gotten the better deal. A tiny wedge of cheese with a shiny green apple awaited his palate. Because he hadn't been sitting anywhere near Stella at the time, he had assumed this act had gone mostly unnoticed. "How did you know it was me?" He asked finally, selecting a round, chocolate ball. Biting into it, he discovered some sort of sweet, pink crème.

"You have a reputation. People talk." She continued eyeing him curiously, though Elliot could tell the event still rankled a little on behalf of her friend. Ah well, she was a good friend, but this was long gone. Stella's lunch hadn't been the first or last he had swapped. He polished off the chocolate.

"Fair enough." He chose another sweet, discovering this one to be full of something flaky and white.

India picked one up off of the tray from the same section as he and bit into it. "Coconut," she sighed in pleasure. "I never get to have coconut." So that was what the taste in his mouth was now. Elliot wasn't sure whether or not he enjoyed the taste, thinking he much preferred the pink crème stuffed one.

"But just because I wonder – " India finished off her chocolate and continued to speak while chewing, "why Stella?"

"Why not Stella?" he replied by way of answer, pushing a few rogue strands of blonde hair out of his eyes. "It wasn't anything personal, if that's what you mean. Unless by personal, you mean a better lunch. Then it was very personal." He smiled winningly. "Don't worry; these are all yours now!" Leaning forward, he pushed the tray of treats towards his partner. "I promise I won't have another bite!" He held up his hands in mock surrender.

India nodded, not fully content, but enough to stop her line of questioning. In the grand scheme of things, it just didn't matter anymore. "So, do you have a plan?" She finally asked. It was probably a foolish question, because how much did any of them have a plan yet? But it was something to say, something important where she might be able to gleam if there could be an alliance here or not.

"Why, my plan is to live, of course," he replied in mock surprise. Really, he had no plans beyond right now, and he didn't particularly care to think of some. That would require getting much more serious than he wanted; something he tended to like to avoid at all costs. "I'm fairly certain we all have the same plan. That's not what's interesting now." He waved the question aside, wanting a lighter conversation. "What's of interest now if you, India. You and I, who will be together in our quest to live." He grinned and debated reaching for an orange. "So let me tell you something about myself that you might not know." From his pocket, he pulled out a shiny copper coin. "This is my district token. I have a whole coin collection back home, coins that if they were worth anything now would make me rich." The thought was an amusing one; he had so much of something that at one point was worth money, and now was just considered junk. Of course, he had no idea what the value of these coins was, but he had plenty of them, in all different sizes and with different faces as well. He handed the coin to India, who looked it over. She had never seen this type of coin before. "So," he continued to smile and took the coin back from India, sensing that he had an opening, "tell me about yourself, India Blair. Who are you?"

**District 9 - Durum**

Socializing was one thing Durum was not interested in after the Reaping. He shared goodbyes with his family – as many goodbyes as the large, extended farming family could squeeze out in the small time allotted them – and then immediately shut down. He remained that way all to the train; barely acknowledging those around him. Some might mistake it for shock. This wasn't quite true, though he was as surprised as anyone would be at having his name chosen out of the hordes of others eligible. While being in the Hunger Games was hardly his idea of a dream, he was mostly annoyed rather than scared at being reaped. Though not arrogant, he realized just how much being absent impacted his family – from his upset, terrified parents to his siblings and other family members, who would have to work harder to fill in the production gap he would leave in his absence.

As a large, family operated farm in the district, it was often let known that if they wanted to keep their farm and not have to work in a mainstream, Peacekeeper overseen grain field, they had better keep their production up. _Way_ up. At times, it was almost impossible to keep up with the Peacekeeper's demands as it was, but with him gone, it would hurt production even more. Without the Peacekeepers patronizing the goods from their farm, they would have nothing. He hated to think this way, but he had a tendency toward being blunt that couldn't be avoided. They could have picked almost any other male in the district, and it wouldn't have had as big of an impact. What would one more field laborer be? They'd replace him the second he left. But at their farm, every single person mattered. Even the little ones helped out in the ways they could, learning tasks from a young age.

He pretended to ignore the prancing Capitol guide and his equally silent, serious looking fellow tribute. Though outwardly he might not have appeared to give them a second thought, on the inside, he judged them quickly. It was like this with most people he met, and they typically fell into one of four categories – _good_, _meh_, _jerk_, or _complete_ _asshole_. Rarely was he wrong about a first impression.

The Capitol fool – typical, excitable, probably without a brain cell in the body. A _meh_ verging toward _jerk_. No doubt many people from the Capitol were like this and would give him a headache, but he got the distinct impression that, while not exactly the smartest person in a room, his escort wasn't a necessarily a bad person. Annoying and bad were two completely different things.

Now his district partner – she was definitely a 'good' ranking. He didn't remember what section she had stepped out of, but he was fairly sure it wasn't with the 17 year olds, where he had been. Her brown eyes were flecked with gold, which made her appear intimidating. He figured from the slight muscles she had that she must work in the fields, as most of his district did, also meaning that she probably knew how to wield a scythe. Not that this meant anything, in a game where there were other opponents who knew how to use any weapon placed in their hands. But he did take her for a straight forward, strong type of person; one who wouldn't stab him in the back or spend the whole time crying. If Durum had believed in a god of any type, he would have thanked them profusely to have her as a district partner instead of some poor younger child. It would have been harder to maintain his composure in front of what could easily be one of his own siblings or cousins.

It was expected that he would want to watch the Reapings; to "see his competition" as his mentor had put it. Well he didn't; nor did he care what anyone else thought of his decision. He'd be meeting these people in a day or two anyway and spend the last days of his life with them. That would be plenty of time to "see" them.

Instead, he chose to find an empty room and shut the door behind him. This room appeared to be a sort of lounge. There was an extremely comfortable looking armchair situated next to a large window. A small side table was to the other side of the armchair, holding a few glossy magazines with titles such as "The Weekly Gossip!" and "Starlet." Uninterested, he took a seat, leaned back and fixed his gaze to the constantly changing view outside.

He found his mind drifting back to a memory of a day not so long ago; a gloriously beautiful day that was worth being celebrated in itself, just for being so lovely. This day also happened to mark the marriage of one of his cousins. It was going to be a fairly large event for the family, with sweets and plenty of dancing. Any family celebration was always full with dancing and merriment; one of the good parts about being part of such a huge family. It was one of those perfect days where it had been sunny, but not overly hot. Everything was still coming into bloom and beautiful. The smells of delicious foods wafted out in his direction to where he sat directly under the kitchen window, watching the younger children run around. While everyone in the family saw each other all the time, as they worked together every day, there was something special and rare about a day that was spent merely enjoying the company of each other instead of rushing to meet a quota. Durum enjoyed watching the casualness of it all; the joy that shone through in everyone's faces.

One of his aunts bustled outside, carrying a steaming tray of shredded pork coated in a special sauce. A cousin followed closely behind with rolls to put the meat on; also freshly made. And even though Durum's family wasn't close to being the poorest in the district, the smells were enough to make his mouth water. He knew that other family members would come over soon, bringing what they could from their own kitchens. They rarely ever ate this well, making this day a cause for celebration for more than one reason.

A large group of male family members was standing off to one side, laughing loudly and clapping each other on the backs. At the sight of food they stopped and made a great show of walking to where his aunt and cousin had placed the offerings, only to be swatted away. "Now don't you dare touch anything until it's all out here, y'all here?" His aunt's words carried across to him and he watched her give each of the men a stern look in turn before hurrying back to the house, no doubt to carry something else out.

"Durum!" Cal called out. Cousin Cal was known for being extremely friendly, if a bit nosey. He was a true social butterfly who always managed to make others feel included; like they were the best of friends. Somehow, even in this large family, he always managed to make the rounds to speak with everyone. He took a seat in the grass next to Durum, leaning back against the house. "How goes it, cousin? Almost time for the real celebration to begin, eh?" He joked, eyeing the platters of food that people were beginning to arrange on the table.

Durum smiled slowly, allowing himself to ease into Cal's presence. "I think it will be more of a celebration when you and Kriselly get married. How long have we been waiting for that now? Three years?"

Cal held up both hands in defense. "Hey, hey, take it easy. I've only been out of the Reaping jar for two years, no need to rush into anything. Besides, we won't be able to take another day off for the next five years, if we want to pay off the debt of this party." Cal paused, but only for a moment. "Besides, I don't hear any mention of a lucky lady in your life. How's that for hypocritical, cousin?"

Durum smiled faintly at Cal's jibe. "My name is still in the bowl, Cal. Not a lot, but it's in there." It was a weak excuse and he knew it, but it was at least partly honest. There really wasn't much point in falling in love or dabbling in it until your last Reaping was up; otherwise you were just setting yourself up for potential heartbreak. It was tempting fate just a little too much for Durum's liking. Besides, he had plenty of work to do on the farm. In his mind, those two reasons combined made a very strong case for not dallying.

"Yeah, okay," Cal said, thoroughly unconvinced by Durum's reasoning. "But when it's all over you, I'm going to bring you out in town, introduce you to some of Kriselly's friends. All work and no play makes Durum a very dull boy." Groaning, he pushed himself up off the ground and brushed his pants off. "Well, better go make the rounds – you can't hog all my attention Durum," he said good-naturedly.

After Cal had walked off, he continued to replay the scenes in his mind; to hear the wedding song being sung, taste the tangy pork, see the radiant smiles on everyone's faces.

The family scene was just so pure and perfect; something he'd hang on to for this train ride. After this, there was sure to never be anything pure and perfect again.


	8. Chariots

_A/N: I am terrible at coming up with outfits! It just isn't my thing, so excuse that aspect of this chapter, which I tend to gloss over a lot!_ _One more down until the Games..._

_

**Beryl Tilling, Reporter**

The excitement in the air is palpable, the same as it is every year. People have spent weeks building up this much energy. Once the Reapings started, the frenzy only increased. I understand the excitement, but I will never understand the people who start betting before the training scores are out. "I bet you half of a week's pay he won't make it passed the first day!" "Oh, no, I'll put a whole month's salary on her, top three at least." Anyone foolish enough to bet upon first glimpse of a tribute deserves to lose their money.

"What do you think, Beryl? Which districts have caught your eye this year?" I turn and raise an eyebrow at my assistant.

"You know I don't like to speculate this early in the Games. Besides, we're about to get a nice behind the scenes look. I wouldn't want to bet before I've even seen that." My assistant and I are careful and quiet. Our job is simply to capture what goes on while the tributes prepare for the Chariot Parade, without them noticing what we're doing. Many of them are so busy or just nervous, and wouldn't notice a humongous camera even if it were right in their faces. Fortunately, technology being what it is, we're able to wear tiny little cameras that fit in convenient places, such as on top of hats, or even through sunglasses. It's quick and painless for all involved – to them, we just appear to be two more Capitolites.

Usually, the behind the scenes footage fetches a nice chunk of money, depending on what we catch. Of course, Caesar Flickerman and Co always pay handsomely for the victor's footage, so they can air it during the victor's interview. Most other tributes tend to collect a fan base of their own, so that even after they die, merchandise bearing their likeness can still be sold.

"Are you all set?" I look back and she nods. "Okay, then, it's time to go in." I take a deep breath and push the door open. It's one thing to see someone on TV, and another to meet see them in person. In person, people tend to seem smaller and younger. The youngest tributes tend to look even more pitiful, and even the oldest and toughest tend to appear smaller somehow.

As usual, the first thing we notice upon entering the room is pandemonium. The large room is filled with people rushing back and forth and every which way, some carrying articles of clothing, some with makeup or jewelry. The tributes seem lost in the chaos. The majority just stand there awkwardly, watching their stylists and each other with a wary eye. A few seem to be puffing out their chests, expanding themselves, as though they were already going to be emerging as victors. I belong here as much as anyone else. More so. Someone has to capture this for the public. I begin my walk around.

Thankfully, I have a good memory; usually I can remember who is from what district on sight. Immediately to my left are what appears to be District 3. Both are younger, from what I can remember; under fifteen. As much as District 3 is typically written off, people tend to forget that the district itself is known for its intelligence. These two might not look like much, but who knows?

The boy appears morose and pouty. He stands there without speaking, watching the proceedings as though it were his funeral. The girl, however, has taken more interest in her surroundings. She glances about inquisitively, as though carefully taking in everything around her. Her eyes land on me watching her. I meet her stare head on, projecting what I hope to be an impassive gaze. From this point on, they're going to be watched every second anyway, so why not get them used to it early on?

Slowly, I move away from them and onto the next district. The boy is unmistakably District 4's Flynn Rowan. He appears to be a jovial person, joking with the stylist and laughing over the matching mermaid costumes they've been given to wear. He's holding up a clamshell bra to his chest and exaggerating his walk; I can only assume he's pretending to be female. The District 4 girl, Memory, is quiet and thoughtful. I can see she is nowhere near as loud and boisterous as her district partner, which might be a good thing. Though she wasn't the volunteer that we've come to expect from 4, I have no doubt she's got something hidden up her sleeve, or else someone would have volunteered for her. She is smiling and chatting quietly with her stylist, who seems to be showing her how to stand up steadily in her mermaid tail.

I glance across the room, to see my assistant making her way through a tangle of escorts and mentors, attempting to reach the District 12 tributes. I slow down my walking in front of the next pair in front of me: District 2. Unfortunately we seem to have been a bit late this year, or perhaps they're only starting earlier, because the tributes are starting to climb into the carriages. _Damnit_. Mason, the male from 2, holds himself like a king. He knows he's tough and strong, and is trying to portray himself as the typical alpha male. And though I know what the girl, Lux, looks like from the Reapings, I'm still stunned. With those bouncy blonde curls and bottle green eyes, I'd expect her to hail from 1. She's just too immaculate in her appearance to be from a district known for its toughness.

"Beryl," I hear, and turn to see the familiar face of one of the escorts. "You're going to miss the start of the parade. You'd better hurry on out! " I've only gotten three districts. I hope my assistant has managed to get more than I have. We meet up on the way to the stands, where we have front row seats.

"7, 11, and 12," she sighs without me having to say anything. We've only managed to get half of the districts this year – we'd better hope that one of those districts has a victor this year, otherwise our paychecks are going to be significantly less than usual. All of a sudden, the crowd perks up and begins to cheer. The parade has begun.

Emerging first, as they do every year, is the pair from 1. With her long blonde hair, the girl could almost be a sister to the 2 girl. Their stylists have taken an interesting, but not unheard of route this year, dressing them as royalty. They wear crowns with jewels in them, and beautiful clothing obviously made from the finest fabrics. Their fingers and necks glitter with jewels. As is usual, their carriage draws loud cheers, particularly as the pair waves and smiles to the adoring crowd.

Next is 2. They stand tall and proud in their knight's armor. The only thing they don't wear is the helmet typically worn by knights. The boy is still puffed out and arrogant looking; the girl is enthusiastically blowing kisses, as difficult as it might be in the restricting armor.

3 doesn't usually make much of an impression, but due to being followed by two Career districts, the crowd is still eager to applaud for something. Their stylists haven't really done anything unique with them – how many years in the past have 3 tributes been dressed as scientists? The two are at completely opposite ends of the spectrum – the boy is still staring out sullenly, his body rigid. The girl, on the other hand, waves shyly to the crowd, her curious eyes still roving out over everything and everyone.

4 brings the usual amount of enthusiastic cheering for a career district, especially as the tributes are half naked.

The girl from 5 is a weak looking thing, with freckles splashed across her face. She looks nervous, but determined to make a good impression, and is smiling shyly at the crowd. The boy is something else. I recall his name being something strange, not Vance but… Vayne! That was it. Vayne appears dead on his feet, with absolutely no expression on his face at all. His brown hair is long and covers half of his face, but in the half you can see, there is nothing. The crowd reacts poorly to this; they enjoy tough, sullen tributes from Career districts, but not emotionless robots from lesser districts. In addition to that, he was a volunteer. If he wasn't even planning to try to impress the crowd, what was the point in volunteering? Most tributes tried everything they could to give themselves a leg up, especially the volunteers who usually knew how this game was played. Making yourself look poorly in front of the very people who could potentially save your life with a sponsor gift was something only an idiot would do.

After the confused whisperings and silence that greeted the 5 chariot, it took the crowd a few moments to regain their enthusiasm for the 6 tributes, leaving an awkward silence until they were about a quarter way across the road. Both tributes appeared full of wonder at the large crowd before them and stared around, wide eyed and shy. Cute tributes rarely won, especially if they were as small as these two, but who knew? It was entirely possible one had something useful hidden up their sleeve that they would discover in training. Either way, they both fit into the cute, overwhelmed by the experience tribute mold that many found endearing and some would even sponsor.

7's chariot pulled out, with the boy visibly shaking and the girl appearing rough and strong. She was an unusually tall girl that took my attention away from the quaking boy next to her. There was something about her that while not necessarily fierce, made her appear tough. If she felt any fear, the crowd didn't witness it at all.

8 was a pair of unusually lively tributes for that district. Usually, the districts got more and more boring and people paid less attention the higher up the numbers got. But 8 was garnering a fair amount of attention for their clownish attitudes. Something about the boy's face screamed "mischief! Watch out for me!" all over it. They were leaning back to back in the chariot, so I didn't see the girl at first until suddenly they switched. About halfway down the trail, the two did what appeared to be a little shimmy on the chariot and suddenly the girl, face full of laughter, was waving enthusiastically at the crowd. The crowd, in turn, remained just as enthusiastic about the two of them, whooping and cat calling them until their chariot disappeared from view.

It was a shame the 9-ers couldn't see what their predecessors had done, or they might have gotten a more passionate greeting. The two, dressed up as stalks of wheat, appeared wooden, smiling unconvincingly at the crowd. After many years of watching the Hunger Games and the chariot rides and interviews that happened beforehand, it was almost always obviously to the crowd when someone was faking their smile and really didn't want to be there. These two were terrible actors.

10 produced a weedy boy with olive skin and short brown hair. The girl next to him was impressive; tall, muscular, and fierce. She looked as dangerous as any Career. She didn't bother waving and trying to gather favor with anyone, but stood there on the chariot as determined and god-like as Mason of District 2. Her orange hair popped and made her stand out; even in the overalls the farming hats the two were made to wear. Of course, plenty of tributes played tough until the Games actually began. At least one tribute a year tended to play the "big man" to everyone (excepting the Careers, of course, who would never accept that treatment) only to be cut down in the Bloodbath a few days later.

By 11 and 12, I can tell the crowd is restless. They are done with the parade and want something bigger and better to happen. Besides, 11 and 12 almost never produce victors, so it's almost a waste watching them, isn't it? At least, that seems to be the prevailing view. Some of these people have been here for the better part of the day, waiting to watch this parade, to get the first glimpse of the tributes before the parade. 11 produces a tough boy and small girl. 12 has two average looking tributes, both districts ordinary enough that they don't hold anyone's attention. If I had to bet at this point (which would be completely foolish of me, which is why I don't bother) I wouldn't place bets on any of the tributes either.

I do notice what everyone else has tuned out already. I notice the girl from 11 is completely fascinated by everything around her- a common occurrence when a little girl from a barbarian district such as 11 comes to the Capitol. Though I've never been out to 11 myself, I've seen the footage of what that district looks like, and thank heaven every day that I've never had to step foot in such a ugly area. I notice that her district partner is angry and portrays it even in his stance- arms crossed, face defiant.

I notice that the boy and girl from 12 must have had some kind of falling out, or perhaps they already knew each other from home and didn't like each other there. Their body language tells me more than most people will catch. I nudge my assistant. "You said you got 12?" I murmur, eyes still watching the two curiously.

"Yeah," the answer comes, eagerly. "Something about a building being defaced; I guess her father is the mayor and got in huge trouble for what he did."

_Interesting_. Will these two be able to work together? The tributes from 12 tend to stick together, unless they die in the Bloodbath (which, I will admit, the chances are pretty high of that happening, if we're to go by years past). If that doesn't happen and these two splinter... Could we be looking at a potential betrayal? Suddenly, I can't wait to look at the footage we did get. For once, 12 might be among the more interesting districts this year.


	9. Training - The Usual Suspects

_A/N: Sorry, the first time I posted this some funky formatting things happened, so I'm trying again, in hopes that it doesn't occur this time!_

The Career alliance began on Day 1 of training, as was typical for those districts.

What was not typical was Memory Parks, the District Four female tribute that year. Unlike her fellow Careers, Memory was the sole tribute among them who had not chosen to be there. As a result, no one was quite sure what to make of her. The general consensus among the tributes of 1 and 2 was that because no one had volunteered in her stead, she must be a fairly competent Career tribute herself. There was no other explanation for there being no volunteer in a Career district, unless, of course, the tribute selected could handle themself; otherwise, it would be nothing short of a disgrace to the district.

The only one who knew the truth was Flynn Rowan. Though Flynn couldn't claim to remember every single person in the training center, particularly those in years below him, he was fairly certain he had never seen Memory Parks in the training center before in his life. All throughout the train ride, the chariot ride, and as he lie in bed that night, he had racked his brain for any memory of this elusive girl, who he simply could not remember for the life of him.

The following morning, as he smeared large amounts of butter all over his waffles, he confronted her. "So," he said, eying her casually, "I've never seen you in the training center before."

Memory had known she couldn't hide forever, and lying to Flynn likely wouldn't end well. "No, you wouldn't have." She avoided eye contact, focusing on pouring her glass of juice.

He nodded and shoveled a forkful of waffle into his mouth. "Well, Mermaid, I'm going to tell you what your options are." Ever since the tribute parade, he had taken to calling his tribute partner "Mermaid" after the costumes they had worn. "You can tell the others you aren't trained. I think you know what will happen to you then. Or—" he swallowed the last of waffle in his mouth, and glanced back up at her, "we can just forget that. Now, don't get too excited; I'm only going to say I've seen you around, not that I knew you or anything." He was not surprised as she slowly nodded her assent, looking up at him in curiosity. To answer her unspoken question, he said, "Hey, it's district honor. Do you realize how bad District 4 would look if they realized the only reason you're here is because Oceana lost her nerve? We'd be the laughingstock of the entire Games! We'd both be kicked out of the Career alliance. And I, for one, am not going to lose my tail that early in the Games."

Memory didn't catch her partner's lame jokes about mermaid tails; only that she was going to have to try extra hard to prove herself. How could she shoulder a weapon with five Careers breathing down her back, expecting her to be as good as if she had trained her whole life? She knew that in previous years, there had been tributes that had acted weak in order for others to ignore them; however, this typically wasn't a strategy with the Careers, who tended to flaunt their power up front. Memory had no power to flaunt whatsoever, and she knew it. But she was infinitely more protected with the Careers than without. She would stay with this alliance just long enough to feel safe before making her escape, a rabbit hoping the wolves around her wouldn't notice her disguise.

* * *

Even though District 2 was among the most highly trained districts, they still arrived first on the first morning of training. Mason, though he wouldn't dare say it out loud, was surprised at how spacious and full of equipment the training center was. The gym at home was always boasted to be the best in the districts, which, being the gym owner's son, never failed to swell him up with pride. However, this gym was spectacular and huge, with trainers at every station, and shiny, new weapons everywhere. If Mason were to die and go to a heaven like this, he would be satisfied.

As annoying as it was, Lux was still sticking to her plan to act like an air-headed, fawning girl around Mason. It didn't take much to deceive him – someone that into himself was unlikely to notice anything, unless she made it blatantly obvious. Already, he was at the nearby swords station, practically fondling a large, two handed sword. The trainer was talking animatedly to him, and nodded approvingly at the way he swung the sword.

"You're 2, right? Lux, unless my memory fails me?" A male voice said from behind her.

She turned to find herself face to face with the boy from One. "Yes, I'm Lux," she answered simply. She didn't have to wait long for a response before he was talking again.

"I'm Maverick Knar; pleased to meet such a lovely woman as yourself. And this here is my equally lovely district partner, Empress! What an attractive pack we're going to make this year!"

A little harmless flirting didn't hurt anyone. This boy was handsome enough, with his light, shaggy hair and muscular build. He certainly had to be a step up from Mason, that was for sure. At least he seemed interested in someone other than himself. Lux let herself offer Maverick a coy smile. "Oh yes, I'm certain we will."

Em could have gagged herself at hearing this little flirtation. Though she wanted to get along with her alliance as best as she could, there was something about Lux that just rubbed her the wrong way. Coyness and flirtation were stereotypically traits portrayed by those of her district, not of 2. She could see who she assumed must be the Two boy over at the sword station, looking rapt as he sliced off a dummy's arm. Now _that_ was the Two she was used to seeing. But this… She glanced over towards Maverick, who seemed completely taken in with Lux and her bouncy blonde curls. This was abnormal, and something she just didn't trust.

They were soon interrupted with other tributes slowly streaming in, some looking terrified, others still half asleep. At long last, the tributes from 4 arrived, completing the alliance.

"Great! Now that we're all here, let's start!" Maverick rubbed his hands together, eager to begin working together. Pretty soon, everyone would see that despite how outwardly beautiful the alliance was this year, it was just as deadly as every other year.

Mason had barely dragged himself away from the sword station long enough to greet his fellow Careers. "They have a lot of swords over there," he gestured back to the station, "and I don't think all of you are familiar enough with how to use them. Let's start over there." He looked pointedly at the District 4 tributes as he said this, as tributes of that district tended to excel with spears or trident, but not always swords.

Lux raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. She knew _exactly_ where she wished one of those swords would end up, but was curious also to see how District 4 would respond. They tended to be the weaker members of the Career pack, but you couldn't always be sure. Any member of the pack, regardless of their originating district, was enough to bring fear into the hearts of the lesser districts. Already, she had noticed others trying not to look in their direction, as though looking might turn them to stone. Or else, they were glancing over and hoping not to be noticed; pretending to look at something nearby if they were caught.

_I have to try to think like one of them_, Memory thought, panicking. _What would a real Career say now? _"Swords later." Damnit, her voice was still too quiet. Though the others heard her and were looking at her, there was none of the assertiveness that she had hoped would be in her voice. "Really," she continued, getting a little louder as she spoke this time, "all it is at the Academy is swords, swords, swords." She tried to speak as though the thought bored her to tears when in reality, she was afraid of being discovered at any second. "Why not something new?" Her eyes cast around, landing on the first non-weapon station she saw. "There. Knot-tying. I never learned how to do a decent knot."

For a moment there was silence. "Is that a joke?" Mason asked. He seemed seriously confused as to why anyone would want to do something other than weaponry. "I'm not wasting my time with something like."

Memory felt herself deflate a little on the inside, afraid everyone else would follow after Mason.

"You know, I think that's a great idea!" Lux enthused to Memory. It was a great opportunity to avoid showing the others her real talents – sure, they would assume she was good because she was a Career, but they didn't need to know _how_ good, or with what weapons. "I've never learned things like that either at the Academy, and I'm sure it could be useful!"

Mason rolled his eyes. "Sure, whatever. You run along and see if you can find any bloodbath victims for us, okay? I'm sticking with the real stations." He watched Lux and Memory depart, shaking his head. "Okay, the rest of you with me or not? We've only got three days, and I know no one here can match my skill."

The other three followed Mason to the swords without complaint. True to his word, Mason was amazing with the weapons. He sparred with various trainers, all of whom ended up at the point of his sword in a compromising position. Every time, he imagined what it would be like to kill his first tribute, to see their blood flow and their face appear in the sky at night. It wasn't so much that Mason was sadistic and cruel, but winning the Hunger Games was the only thing that mattered to him. It was what he _lived_ for, ever since the very young age when he had begun training. Every kill would bring him closer to that great destiny for which he was born. The feeling of the weapon in his hand was so natural, it was almost as though it were an extension of himself. His body pulsed with excitement every time he cornered or unarmed someone. Just a few more days, that was all he had to wait. A few more days…

Flynn was not happy at being stuck with this insufferable bastard known as Mason. He was not happy at being in a group. While he knew from the beginning that he would be joining the Careers, being stuck with these people was still not something he enjoyed. If he could, he would train alone. Hell, it would probably be better over with his district partner and the Two girl than here fencing with District One, who showed no signs of shutting up even as he attempted to jab Flynn's shoulder. "….and my sister Natasha works in a bakery. Can you believe it? Never even trained to be a Career." He directed his lance in the direction of Flynn's kneecap. Flynn managed to hop back, surprised that Maverick could manage a conversation while jabbing his lance around as he was. "Interesting," was all he replied quietly, trying to locate Maverick's weak spots and patterns. Finally, he found an opening and went for it, managing to catch Maverick in what definitely would have been an instant kill shot if they were in the arena.

"What can I say?" he shrugged, feigning modesty. "Must be the super-kelp we eat back in the district."

Maverick looked confused for a moment, "Super…kelp?" Then he burst into laughter at the joke, even though he didn't know what "kelp" was. He didn't think much of Mason either, from what he had witnessed, and was glad someone was reaching out a hand to him.

Flynn smiled back and lowered his weapon, glad to have someone amused by his joke. "Why don't we head over and see what our esteemed partners are doing?" He suggested, going to place his weapon back. He walked over just in time to see Mason shove over a younger boy who happened to be walking in the general direction. Flynn saw the younger boy's widen in fear while Mason roared with laughter. "Don't worry little boy. I can't kill you for another few days!" Flynn rolled his eyes. "Is it bad if I hope he steps off his plate early?"

* * *

The two things that Em missed most from home were Caesar and her pets. There was nothing quite like snuggling up with a dog after a long, hard day at the Academy. Some days were too exhausting even to draw, and sometimes, if she were perfectly honest with herself, the inspiration just wasn't there. As much as she loved art, there were some days she came home, flopped down on her bed and wondered, _What is the point_? After all, it wasn't as though her artwork would ever be as prominent as the famous Capitol artists. Her masterpieces were doomed to sit in her house and collect dust, with no one but friends and family to see them. Her favorite of her six dogs was a mutt named Rookie. When Em got into her hopeless, fall-into-bed tired and depressed moods, Rookie was there, licking her face and laying his big head against her chest. So far, she hadn't had a depressing moment in the Capitol – just overwhelming ones- but it still would have been nice to feel that familiar furry head against her.

Her very first night in the Capitol, the quiet had so disturbed her that she couldn't sleep. When all the lights were turned off and everyone was silent in her house back in the district, she was used to hearing the click of a dog's toenails on the floor; a bird's squawk as it protested being in the dark. If it hadn't been for the TV in Em's room, she wouldn't have been able to sleep. Not that she particularly cared about any of the shows that were on; she just needed the noise. Last night she had fallen asleep to a strange beauty tutorial; a "how-to" for dying your own skin in just the right shade.

No doubt Caesar would have shaken his head at something like that. Em could almost hear him as she drifted off to sleep; "People like that," he would say, furiously shaking his head. "They control our world; who lives, who dies, it's all controlled by people who can't even stand to live in their own skin!" There weren't many people like Caesar in District 1; people who harbored such treasonous and radical thoughts. He had to rebel in secret little ways so that the officials would never know he was the one who started the trouble. Though she didn't agree with all of Caesar's ideas (never in her life would she believe she owed the lower districts _anything; i_f they weren't so rebellious the Capitol wouldn't keep them in such poverty_)_ she admired him greatly. There was something forbidden and daring about him that she couldn't stay away from.

Unfortunately, someone like that would never fall for someone like her. A rich girl with Capitol artwork in her beautiful, large home. A girl who had never known a day of hunger in her life, whose biggest trial in her life had been a fight with her best friend. No, though he'd never say it out loud, Caesar would want someone with more _depth_, whatever that meant. She had plenty of depth, or so she thought. All of her pets were rescues, taken in because someone else had been heartless and thrown them out. Sometimes she even helped out the newest kids in the training center, for it wasn't that long ago since she herself had her first day and felt like a lost puppy. But Em knew this just wouldn't be enough depth for Caesar, so she hadn't even tried.

Yes, she had admired him from afar, listened to his impassioned speeches in awe, but had not actually spoken to him. If there was one thing she knew about Caesar, it was that he hated the Games as much as the Capitol itself. The Games were the ultimate evil that needed to be eradicated; there was no district honor in winning, as tributes from One often thought. And who was she but a girl who had been training to volunteer from a young age? Another brainwashed one, he'd think, and turn his head from her in disgust.

She thought of him this first day in training as well. She imagined the look as he learned she was training for the Games. The look as he turned away from her, destroying everything.

"Hey Blondie!" She heard over the din. "Are you sure you're not from Four?" The voice cackled. "You're pathetic with a sword! Want me to show you how it's really done?"

Em looked up at Mason, who was standing only a few feet from her now and grinning mockingly. "No," she said, affecting her most imperious voice. "No, I'm just fine Two. Try looking to yourself instead of at all of us girls, how about?"

Mason turned bright red and spat on the ground at Em's feet. "You're damn lucky you're in my alliance, One, or you'd find yourself stuck straight through with any number of these weapons." He gazed around before saying, "Don't you even know who I am?"

_His father owns the gym in Two. _She remembered hearing that somewhere, but didn't remember the source. Well, two could play at this game. "Don't you know who _I_ am?" She asked, looking down her nose at him. Her parents _were_ incredibly wealthy jewel crafters, and if Mason's family had anywhere near as many Capitol connections as hers did, they might have heard of them. At his lack of response, she turned, leaving him fuming behind her. Let him fume all he wanted. Unless he wanted to tear the alliance apart, he'd have to deal with someone refusing to put up with his crap. So, her sword skills weren't amazing. Most people, even Careers, weren't good at every single weapon. They picked a specialty and stuck with it. There was no shame in that. She'd like to see Mason try to use a crossbow.

She made her way over to the bows, but chose a recurve bow instead of her usual crossbow. The little girl training there was no good; she could barely load the arrow. It was painful to watch someone struggle with the weapon the way this poor girl was. As she approached, she noted the small _5_ on the girl's back. That explained everything Em needed to know.

Em loaded up the arrow and took a shot. Bullseye. Second shot, close to a bullseye, but not quite. By this time, the young girl was looking at her with unconcealed fascination. "This takes years of practice," she said, not looking directly at the girl, but loading another arrow. "If you haven't trained with a bow and arrow before, you should try another weapon." Before the arrow could even hit its target, the girl had scuttled off to another area. She might seem harsh, but it was true; it had taken her years to feel comfortable with all of the different bows there were to choose from.

Continuing to train brought Em away from her encounter with Mason and into the familiar world of bows and arrows. If she couldn't have her pets or Caesar, well, this feeling was the closest to home she was going to get.

* * *

To her vast surprise, Memory was decent at knot tying. Of course, the fishermen in her district could tie a knot better than she could, but her attempts would still suffice in the arena. Next to her, the girl from Two, Lux, was struggling with a clove hitch. "Here," Memory offered quietly, adjusting parts of the rope, "this should be over here. And then, just pull through…"

_You're helping the enemy!_ A voice in her head screamed before looking at Lux and thinking- _That might be the last face I ever see. _ That thought was especially scary for her. If she could pull off being a Career for long enough, she might be able to steal some supplies and run. Eventually the Career pack would split – but she didn't know how long that would be, and would do anything to avoid being there when it happened. Two days. She'd give herself two days with the Careers- enough to make them trust her, but not enough to see how useless she was essentially going to be to the group. All of this was racing through her head as she helped Lux complete the knot she was tying.

"Thanks!" Lux offered a winning smile, displaying amazingly straight, white teeth. Being with someone who just seemed so… _perfect _was almost intimidating. Memory had no doubt that if this girl lived in Four, she would be among the crowd that had nothing to do with a girl like her. But here she was, talking and being as friendly as possible with Memory, all because she thought she was somebody else.

Unconsciously, her hand reached into her pocket to finger the battered old locket that served as her district token; a silver heart inscribed with the words, "Forever Without Love." Her fingers ran over the letters; a soothing, familiar gesture. Ever since she had found this locket on the street a few months back she had kept it, marveling at how it reflected her life. In times of stress or boredom she often found herself running her fingers over the letters, as others might twirl their hair or twist a ring. She hoped that in time, she could calm her nerves slightly. Yes, this was going to be a death match, but she had a decent enough chance, as long as everyone thought she was with the Careers. Yes, yes, she had a good enough chance…

In great contrast to Memory's thoughts, on the inside, Lux was laughing. Mason thought her a simple pretty thing, and for all she knew, that image had projected into the others' views as well. Everything was going according to plan. Though she had been surprised at the Four girl's suggestion to tie knots, it had been a welcome change from the usual weapons station, where she would have had to try hard to perform poorly. The past year had really improved her skill with blades and she was too proud to let herself be seen as anything but the very best. Having the others see who she really was would have destroyed everything.

It was questionable that this girl – Memory? Who named their kid Memory? – had chosen a non-weapons station. Several hypotheses crossed her mind, but they all boiled down to one thing – Memory also did not want others to see her train with weapons. Was she the same as Lux, hoping to hide a talent and then surprise everyone with her training score? Or did Mason's antagonism towards the Four tributes hold true in this case? Either way, Memory would be someone to watch.


End file.
